


catch me like a cold

by iv (ivan)



Series: drop our anchors in a storm [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Telltale Series (Video Game), DCU
Genre: F/M, REPOSTED!!, as a 2 parter since i finally reworked and finished fix me lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-04 03:49:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 28,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12762528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivan/pseuds/iv
Summary: in search of a new life, charlie comes to gotham - there she crosses path with a man she had a one night stand with once. something blossoms between them, something familiar.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> http://transgressivepotato.tumblr.com/post/167643576125/catch-me-like-a-cold-iii

She promised herself to not ever come back to Gotham. It's not like she had a grudge or anything – she just wasn't a fan of stepping into the same river twice. Sure, panta rhei and all that crap, but she read the news – even though she promised herself to not ever read Gotham Gazette. That city was unchanged in a good way and very changed in a bad way – Batman made its criminals hide underground like rats, most likely leading to truly astounding developments in the underworld. Also Penguin – the one person truly linking her to the city – was allegedly long gone. He never made it to jail or Arkham or wherever he should be; he just... Disappeared. Probably out of the city soon after. Gone with the wind.

Well, „linking” was a mighty big word for a one night stand. They chatted briefly; and then they fucked. It was a nice night, and that story guaranteed her free drinks in a certain bar somewhere around Winnipeg. Not every girl can say she once got bitten by a dangerous criminal.

And yet, Charlie returned – this time she wasn't looking for anything, as she already found what she was looking for. Her long, global adventure was over – it was time to take a breather, maybe stay in one place for longer than a week. Take some pictures. Make some friends. Evie – her bartender friend from Canada – got her in touch with her relative, a young woman around Charlie's age, named Misty – and Charlie was on her way to her first meeting with Misty.

They decided to meet in a well-hidden, high class bar Charlie visited on her previous visit. That's where she met the Penguin, back when he was still Oswald – he saved her from a very determined bouncer, who was presumably going to just straight up murder her. As you do in Gotham.

„I'll get you in.”, Misty assured her during their brief call, laughing quietly. „I have a free pass there.”

Paul – the bouncer – was nowhere to be seen, probably due to everything that went down in Gotham since she left. A crime boss was murdered, and Charlie could only guess that Paul was working for him. The interior design changed as well – the place got a bit darker and more crowded, looking more like a club than a luxurious restaurant it used to resemble.

Misty was waiting for her outside. She was short and plump and her pastel yellow dress beautifully contrasted with her dark skin. She quickly eyed Charlie up and down; and just before she got self-conscious about it nodded with approval.

„Lookin' good.”, she said, shaking Charlie's hand. „Black suits you.”

„Almost all my clothes are black.”, she admitted, for now keeping to herself why is that. „Nice to meet you.”

„I'm glad aunt Evie hooked us up. I could use a new face in my social circle.”

They went inside, leaving their jackets in a – newly added – cloakroom. There was a young boy behind the counter; he greeted Misty by her name.

„Are you a regular here?”, Charlie asked curiously, feeling slightly amused.

„Something like that, yeah.”, Misty almost purred in response, winking at her.

As soon as they sat down the bartender instantly focused on them, much to the displeasure of few other people waiting to get their drinks.

„Good evening, Jacques.”, Misty said without looking up from her phone. „Please, meet Charlie. Charlie, this is Jacques, the best bartender in Gotham.”

„Go big or go home? Love the attitude of whoever's running this place right now.”

Misty snorted.

„That's probably his motto. He should get a tattoo.”

„I already like that guy.”

They got their drinks – colorful and probably alcoholic enough to break even the most hardened veteran – and sat in silence for about a minute. Charlie kept glancing at Misty, with each second seeing more and more resemblance to Evie.

„So, Charlie.”, Misty said finally, setting her glass down. „How do you know my aunt?”

„Oh, I once spent a night in her bar.”, Charlie replied, toying with the fabric of her dress. „And we kind of clicked. She's a decent person.”

„See, her messages were infuriatingly vague.”, Misty sighed, playing with her phone. „She only really said a friend of hers is heading to Gotham and might need a guide. Is that the case?”

„Oh, absolutely. Show me all the best places. And all the best people.”

„Well, I can get you an interview with Bruce Wayne, if that's what you're after.”, Misty said, smirking. „Or our mayor. Unfortunately our crime boss is dead, so unless you're, like, a medium...”

„I'm not into crime. Well... Not into taking part in it.”, she corrected herself. „There is something in bad boys that just draws me in, but I heard Falcone was as attractive as a mashed potato. So I'll pass.”

„He was an ugly motherfucker, both outside and inside, that is true. But seriously, if you're looking for a hookup...”

Charlie laughed, covering her mouth with her hand and shook her head.

„I really like the way you think, Misty.”, she finally said, smiling. „But first I want to get to know this city in general. Last time I... Didn't really do a lot of sightseeing. And who knows? Maybe this time I'll settle down.”

„You want to settle down in Gotham?”, Misty asked, her entire face expressing full skepticism. „Why?”

„I'm an adventurous type. Gotham seems like a right place for me.”

„Honey, Gotham isn't right for anyone, maybe except Batman and our other masked freaks.”

„Maybe I want to join the ranks of those masked freaks you mentioned. Give me a chance, Misty.”

„My aunt said you travelled all around the world. That you visited so many places.”

„But only in Gotham I found myself a lover who instantly figured out how I like it.”, she finally admitted, both to Misty and to herself. „Look, during my journey I slept with a lot of people – but only this one dude was truly memorable.”

„And that's why you're back? Because you want to find him again?”, Misty asked, leaning in, eyes burning with curiosity. Charlie snorted and shook her head.

„Hell no! I just take it as a good sign. A sign of this city being compatible with me.”

„Well, nothing like a good old over-interpretation. But sure. Have it your way.”

Misty picked her glass up again and winked at Charlie.

„I sure as hell am not going to try to change your mind. Like I said – I don't mind some new company.”

„Well, you have to introduce me to your friends some day.”

„Miss Haze...”, Jacques interrupted them quietly, looking at Misty. Charlie raised her eyebrow, turning her head.

„Haze? You're actually called Misty Haze?”

„Yeah, well, fuck my parents.”, she replied nonchalantly, turning her attention to the bartender. „What is it?”

„The boss wants to speak with you.”

„Ugh.”, Misty said with annoyance. „Which one?”

Instead of replying, Jacques simply looked up at the ceiling. That visibly loosened Misty up; she finished her drink and got up, turning around to face the curious Charlie.

„Is the owner a friend of yours?”

„You could say that. Jacques, be a darling, make sure no one tries anything stupid.”

She left through a door behind the bar. Before it closed, Charlie spotted a man waiting in the corridor – he was tall, buff and visibly stressed. He said something to Misty, and his body language practically screamed „I'm so sorry”.

„Who owns this place?”, she asked the bartender who didn't even look at her.

„Salvatore Maroni.”, he replied indifferently. „One of Gotham's many businessmen.”

„Really? Never heard of him. Does he also run this place?”

„And why do you ask?”, he replied surprisingly sharply, still only looking at his palms. „You can just google this stuff.”

„Aw, I was just trying to make a polite conversation.”, she said mockingly and pushed her glass towards him. „Can you keep an eye for my glass and my seat? I need to fix my makeup.”

„Restroom's on the right from where you're sitting.”

Still without looking up he took her glass and put it under the counter, away from any wayward pills.

The bathroom was spacious, somehow almost empty and brightly lit. She set her purse down near the sink and looked at her reflection; her lipstick was slightly smudged and her eyeliner was just a bit uneven. It wasn't anything big, but she had a gut feeling it might be best for her to be absent for the next few minutes. Her instincts usually didn't fail her – and this time wasn't an exception. If she stayed, she would rob him of his dramatic entrance.

When she left the bathroom – her lips dark red, her eyeliner as pointy as her stilettos, her auburn locks brushed to one side, exposing her neck – she instantly knew something is... Well, not wrong. But not right either.

Misty's seat was no longer vacant; a man was sitting there, facing away from Jacques, keeping one hand in a pocket. He was smoking – she instantly remembered the „no smoking inside” sign she saw on her way in.

He had a sharp profile, head tilted backwards and eyes half closed; even in the dim light she could see his stubble.

He looked beautiful; almost as beautiful as when she first saw him months earlier, when he got her out of an ugly situation in the same bar. If it wasn't for her already knowing who he is she'd probably feel intrigued; and she could only imagine what she'd feel if she still was a hormonal teenager.

Charlie sat back down and glanced at him; he remained mostly still, only moving to take a drag on a cigarette.

Much to her amusement, she realized the music had changed; now „A Girl Like You” was playing in the background. She was sure it's somehow his doing.

„You're not supposed to smoke here.”, she said without looking at him; but she knew he's listening.

He remained silent for a moment, and finally turned around, putting the cigarette out by pressing it to the counter, much to the bartender's visible distress.

„Better now?”, he asked, staring at her profile; she nodded and – as she saw out of the corner of her eye – he smiled.

„Wasn't expecting to see you.”

„Yeah? And why's that?”, he asked, still staring.

„Heard you left the city.”

„Who told you that?”

„Common sense.”

„Oh, now that's a new.”, he said with a smile that only barely reached his eyes. „Didn't suspect you of having one in the first place.”

Now that she was sitting closer she could see how he'd changed during the past few months; he had some new scars and what looked like permanent dark circles under his eyes, but other than that it was still the same Oz she slept with.

Oh, also he ditched his old clothes in favor of a suit. It looked weird with his scars and the inelegant haircut, but he made it work. Or maybe it was just her having a thing for men in suits.

„Buy me a drink?”, she asked flirtatiously. „Friend?”

„Why are you back, Charlie?”, he asked, ignoring her request.

„Back in Gotham or back in this bar?”

„Both.”

„Well, maybe the answer to both is that I missed you.”

His shocked expression made her laugh out involuntarily; she turned her eyes away, almost not noticing the sudden glimpse of disappointment in his bright eyes.

„That was mostly a joke... But it's still good to see you.”, she added eventually. He sighed.

„We should talk in private.”, he finally said, and it sounded like it takes him a lot of effort to actually say it out loud, with all that hesitation and what sounded like nervousness hidden behind the smooth façade. „When are you leaving?”

„Not anytime soon. I'm considering a... Longer stay.”

Of course she did, now that she knew he's still in town and still obviously open. She still remembered the sight of him with her blood on his lips, and the surprisingly soft way he asked her if she's okay – but she'd rather die than admit it.

His face visibly lightened up. Why was he so glad to hear it? Did he want something from her? Was he really that lonely?

„Glad to hear it.”, he informed her, as if she didn't notice it. „Where are you staying?”

„Nowhere you can show up out of blue, considering you're a wanted criminal.”

It came out much harsher than she meant to. He winced.

„Are you trying to tell me to piss off?”

„No, I'm trying to tell you I don't want you to end up in jail.”, she explained. „Why are you so touchy, Oz?”

Before he answered, Misty returned from her mysterious meeting. She stood behind Oswald with her arms crossed, looking very displeased.

„What the fuck are _you_ doing here?”, she asked sharply. „This is my seat.”

„Oh, relax, Misty.”, he said, suddenly back to his old attitude she remembered from their previous encounter; a bit cheeky, a bit full of himself, treating the other person's annoyance as a sign of victory. „I was just making sure no one's trying anything funny with your friend! I was just being a gentleman.”

„Just... Get out of my sight.”, she sighed heavily.

Very slowly, Oswald got up and stretched out, staring Misty down. Eventually he shot her a mocking smile and stepped aside.

„There. All yours again. Happy now?”

„Go upstairs, he wants to talk to you.”

His mocking smile quickly perished, as he turned around. Right as he was passing next to her, Charlie reached out and put her hand on his shoulder.

„You still didn't buy me a drink.”

„Next time I see you I'll buy you two.”, he promised, glancing at her for a moment. „Deal?”

„Deal.”

She let him go and he left through the door hidden behind the bar. Misty sighed and shook his head.

„I'll take it as a sign you two already met.”

„Oh, we did. Hey, Jacques, can I get a martini?”

Misty was visibly bothered by something and Charlie was starting to slowly piece together the bigger picture. The very presence of Oswald in this very bar raised some interesting questions about what exactly happened during the past few months and about who's currently running the show.

„Misty...”

She didn't like the sudden air of uneasiness between them. This tension was ruining a perfectly nice evening; she never expected mafia connections to suddenly enter the picture.

„Maroni is interested in you.”, Misty finally blurted out, before Charlie said anything else. „He has eyes all over the country and he knows about your little fortune. He's after your money.”

„Am I even supposed to know about this?”

„He'll reach out sooner or later. You know – a business proposal. Nothing shady, after all, Salvatore is a businessman.”

„Two questions.”

„Shoot.”

„Am I going to become a local celebrity?”

„Well, Maroni's a well-respected member of society, and a well known one... So probably yes. Maybe hire a bodyguard or two.”

„Noted. Why was Cobblepot here?”

„To be honest, I was expecting it to be number one.”, Misty said with a smirk, taking a sip from a newly refilled glass Jacques quietly set down in front of her. „You two seem close.”

„Birds of a feather.”, she replied simply. „Now riddle me this: what was this wanted criminal doing in a bar owned by a respected member of Gotham's high society? And why didn't anyone call the cops?”

„Take a look around. Every person here? They never saw him. Why would they call the police if nothing suspicious is going on?”

„Does he come here often?”

„He practically lives upstairs. Why?”

„Well, he promised me a drink and I'm going to get it even if it means breaking into his hideout in the middle of the night.”, she said with a faint smile.

Misty laughed out in response and put her hand on Charlie's knee.

„You're going to fit right in. Gotham likes people who knows what they want.”

„Even if it's just a drink?”

„Even if it's just a drink.”

***

It turned out that despite her harsh words, Misty is actually quite fond of Oswald – it took her a few shots to admit it, but eventually she stated they're actually good friends. Charlie wasn't convinced this is completely true – she saw a lot of friendships based on fake disdain. Hell, she actually had some friendships based on fake disdain.

However what interested – and bothered – her the most most the fact mysterious Maroni knew not only about her existence, but also about her presence in Gotham. She tried to keep last two years of her life under the wraps, away from prying eyes; nobody needed to know about her bankruptcy and the drastic measures she took to recover from it. Naturally, she couldn't hide everything – australian press quickly covered the local part of her story, even though she firmly refused any comments. She asked her old friends – even though she wasn't sure if they even care about her anymore – to do the same, and they gladly complied. She suspected they simply want her out of their lives and social circles; nobody wants to be friends with a blood-soaked bankrupt socialite who ultimately destroyed their family's good name.

Well, that was in the past. She had her money back, and once again she could afford to stay at a luxurious hotel without having to resort to cheap tricks.

Her suite was spacious, had the most comfortable bed she ever slept in, state-of-the-art jacuzzi, tasteful decorations and felt horribly, depressingly empty and quiet. She was so used to cheap motels with paper-thin walls and campings and spending nights in company of other people that the sudden return to conditions she spent the majority of her life in felt just wrong. She felt like an intruder in her own damn hotel room; and knowing there will be nobody at her side once she wakes up made it hard to fall asleep in the first place.

She dreamed of cigarette smoke, rustling sheets and bright grey eyes filled with a strange – yet wonderful – mix of concern and almost blind amazement.

***

Charlie's first week back in Gotham was as uneventful as it gets. Misty and her wife – very tall, elegant, bright-eyed secretary named Esme – showed her around, introducing her to the most important places; the hottest clubs, restaurants, stores and landmarks commonly used as meeting spots. She saw – from a distance, naturally – the legendary Wayne Manor and the infamous golden plaque no one ever dared to steal. She also caught up with the news – no juicy detail was left undescribed.

Oh, she heard it all. Misty – a reporter for the Gotham Gazette – compiled a list of the most essential articles for her; so she heard it all. How Bruce Wayne's name was dragged through mud, how Carmine Falcone was assassinated by a drugged cop, how an abandoned child resurfaced after years, only to fall from grace, hitting the ground harder than Lucifer when he fell – twice. Oh, during her absence Gotham was in turmoil and Oswald Cobblepot had been very busy. For a short time he managed to seize the seat of CEO of Wayne Enterprise, along with the majority of the brand's financial assets; he was also involved in Lady Arkham's bloody revolution and was responsible for killing mayor Hill on live television.

If she didn't know him – even though it was brief and didn't involve a lot of talking – she'd probably think someone's making all this stuff up; but she saw the footage. She read the articles, saw the pictures. For a while Oswald was literally hellbent on getting his revenge – and she couldn't make herself feel disgusted. Part of her – a big part of her, actually, the one that made her go on a two years long hunting trip – understood. Hell, maybe even sympathized.

When she told Misty about it, her new friend only shrugged.

„You know, you're not the only one. Many people say that's not how it should go.”

„Really? What do people think?”

„Well, quite a lot of people believe things would go down differently if Cobblepot wasn't left all alone as a kid. That doesn't excuse his dealings with Lady Arkham, but does explain a lot.”

Charlie nodded and Misty shot her a quick grin.

„Some kids from Europe tried to get money for him on kickstarter, you know? They called it „The Cobblepot Therapy Fund”. They also wrote a lot of articles about him. I think someone actually wrote a Cobblepot case study as their PhD thesis. They actually interviewed him – and now our police is trying to contact them day and night, demanding to know how they managed to contact him in the first place.”

„Seriously? Cobblepot gave an interview while in hiding?”

„Of course he did. But do you want to know the worst part?”

„You bet.”

„He reached out to them first, after their facebook post went viral. Fuck, he actually had a skype convo with them. All while in hiding.”

„I imagine it costs Maroni a lot to keep him hidden.”, Charlie said cautiously. They were in her hotel apartment, with nobody else around; they could talk freely. „Why is he doing that?”

„You'll have to ask him yourself. Remember how I said he's going to reach out to you?”

Of course she remembered, how could she not? It's hard to forget being informed that a pillar of community – who may or may not be a new local crime boss, an usurper to the vacant Falcone throne – is openly going after her fortune.

Well, at least he was being honest. That was definitely a plus.

„He invited me to dinner. And my usual plus one can't make it today, so I figure this might be a good occasion to formally introduce you. What do you think?”

Charlie shrugged, feeling indecisive. This definitely sounded like the best way to get to know Maroni and form some sort of opinion on him - because googling him didn't really help. According to search results, Salvatore Maroni had a stellar reputation, almost rivaling that of Bruce Wayne's before his family history was leaked to the press. His private life remained a mystery, but no one had any doubts about him not having any ties to Gotham's crime; his father was allegedly involved in some shady stuff during the prohibition, but it was all flimsy allegations with no concrete proof to back them. Maroni was a regular donor to almost every of Gotham's charities and a frequent guest at charity fundraisers; everyone loved him and no one was able to tell what is he like behind the closed doors. And yet this – generally well-respected – Basset Hound-looking gentleman not only somehow became the new owner of a previously mafia-ridden Peperoncino, but was also harboring a wanted criminal under his roof. Those two things were not adding up.

„I'll bite.”, she said eventually. „Who else's on the guest list?”

„Oh, it's a private thing. Close friends and associates only – so I'm guessing Jonathan Crane and Ozzie.”

„Are you implying Maroni has Crane in his pocket? THE Jonathan Crane?”

She knew Crane – he was an academic celebrity. She read his books; he also had a series of guest lectures at her college. She remembered him as a charming, disarmingly friendly and contagiously enthusiastic individual.

„Oh, he's a close friend of Sal. Sal funds his research and in return Crane offers his services as a discreet, of-the-books medical professional.”

Misty paused for a second and took a sip of her freshly squeezed orange juice.

„He patched Cobblepot up after his little tête-à-tête with Batman. What do you think about his work?”

„In general, or about his work on Oswald's broken bones? Because I only noticed some new scars on his face.”

„That's the result of him having unlimited access to Maroni's bank accounts... And soon also to yours, I presume.”, she added, winking at Charlie. „So, are you coming?”

„I could use some influential friends.”, she agreed, finishing her own drink. „Count me in. Where and when?”

„At Peperoncino, where else? It's the unofficial lair of Salvatore's private life. Only his friends can get in during the VIP hours.”

„Oh, am I his friend already?”

„You're a person of interest for sure. But... Sal honors the old „friend of my friend is also my friend” rule. And we seem to be getting along just fine. Same goes for you and Oswald.”

„Wasn't the saying about enemies though?” she asked, ignoring the last remark which left her with a bizarre, stinging feeling. During the last week she – for better or worse – avoided thinking about Oswald. She wasn't sure why – usually she had no problem thinking about her conquests. But this time... This time she just couldn't focus.

„It was, but Salvatore has no enemies. Let's keep it that way, for both his and Oswald's sake.”, Misty said with a smirk, glancing at Charlie who sighed with annoyance and rubbed her forehead.

„Are you trying to squeeze a story out of me?”, she finally asked. „Come on, miss reporter, be honest. What do you want to hear?”

„Oh, I'm just curious. How come you know Oswald? He claims he was laying pretty low before all that revolution crap. Friend of a friend?”

„Why do you care?”

„As you probably already figured out, I'm on Sal's payroll. Well, unofficially – it's not an actual payroll. I do some favors for him and in return... He does some favors for me. I'm helping him with keeping Cobblepot safe. And I just want to know if you can be trusted.”

Misty paused and Charlie shrugged.

„I didn't tell anyone during the last week. I think that's your answer.”

„But why?”

„And why is Salvatore helping him?”

„He has his reasons.”

„And so do I. But I can tell you how we met. I have to warn you though – it's pretty... Anticlimactic. It did win me your aunt's eternal friendship though.”

„Well, just tell me.”

„He... Helped me, when I was visiting Gotham for the first time. See, back then Falcone was still the owner of _Peperoncino_ and I wasn't a friend of a friend. Oswald swooped in, claimed I'm his friend and should be there and then... We got to know each other.”

„Oh, so you're the mysterious C. I should have guessed. Your shade of lipstick-”

„-matches the one on the card.”, Charlie finished, shaking her head. So, Oswald did keep the short letter she left next to him when she was sneaking out in the morning. She signed it as C and by pressing her red lips to the piece of paper; it was something she'd done a lot of times before. Never thought it will be one day used to identify her. „Does he always keep mementos of his... Adventures?”

„Usually he's the one to sneak out in the morning. Or so I heard. Never had the doubtful pleasure of sleeping with him.”

Misty shuddered and Charlie smirked. Right. Friends.

„I'd say... Nine stars out of ten.”

„Why not ten? What did he fuck up this time?”

„I can't blame him for not knowing about something I didn't tell him about.”, she said, looking for the right words; she was not in a mood to get into the detailed descriptions of her preferences. „But he almost figured it out.”

„He's dumb.”, Misty said in response. „Bad at figuring stuff out.”

The faint resemblance of laughter in her voice told Charlie she's not being entirely serious.

Misty got up, setting her – now empty – glass down on the nearby table.

„I have to go. I'll pick you up around seven. Don't be too fancy, it's still a friendly gathering, not an audience with the queen. But also not too casual – Sal's like that.”

***

Misty's vague description of Sal's preferred dress code left Charlie with not a lot of options – her old wardrobe was gone and she was still in process of getting it back. Luckily she had a wide collection of assorted black clothes; like a simple, short-sleeved rockabilly-inspired dress, a satin choker decorated with a tiny white bow and her favourite pumps. It felt good to be able to regularly wear heels again – she had nothing against sneakers, trainers and sturdy boots, but heels felt like a state of grace. Also she liked to feel tall.

She was a bit surprised to discover the perspective of spending evening in Oswald's company was actually making her a bit nervous. She wasn't scared of him – why would she? Compared to the way he was during Lady Arkham's failed revolution, he seemed to have calmed down; but he also already had an impression of her. She wondered if she can live up to it. She also wondered if he _knows_ – if Misty, who obviously knew, told him.

Charlie smirked to herself, fixing her hair in front of a mirror. „Birds of a feather”, she told Misty back during their first evening out – and it wasn't that far off. Similarities were there. She wondered if the sympathy she feels for his – mostly failed – cause will turn out to be mutual. She hoped so.

Her phone buzzed and she picked up, still gazing at her reflection. Hair... Done. Makeup... Good. She made a mental note of ordering new lipstick – at this rate she was going to run out of it soon.

„Yes?”

„I'm in the hall and the receptionist refuses to let me in.”, she heard Misty, talking with voice filled with thinly veiled annoyance. „Are you ready?”

„I'll be down there in a minute.”

Misty hung up and Charlie sighed quietly. Breathe in, breathe out. She picked up her – black – purse and left the apartment.

Misty was waiting in the hall. As soon as she saw her she pointed to her and the receptionist looked at her, visibly tired.

„I'm sorry, miss.”, the man said, shaking his head. „But I can't just let random strangers in. The safety of our guests-”

„Let her in next time.”, Charlie interrupted him. „Write it down – miss Schiller-Aberdeen requests miss Haze to be let in.”

They left the building. It was a chilly evening, and Charlie regretted not taking her jacket with her – but she only had her old, worn out leather jacket, because she kept putting buying something nicer off. She quickly got goosebumps and was very glad Misty parked her car nearby.

„How's your wife?”, Charlie asked, not wanting to spend the ride in silence. Misty smiled, like she always did when talking about Esme. She spent few afternoons with both of them; and they were so clearly in love. Charlie saw it all – the hopefully lovestruck gazes, the tender touches, the pet names. The harmony, how they seemed to complete each other perfectly. She almost felt jealous when looking at them – it's been a long while since she felt genuinely loved and cared about. There was a single exception; a particular man, who asked her if she's okay in that soft, concerned voice while looking at her attentively.

„She has lots of paperwork to do.”, Misty said, bringing Charlie back to Earth. „And has a meeting with Maroni's main IT guy. He says he found something important.”

„Is Esme on Maroni's... Favor-roll as well?”

„Oh, no, no, it's nothing like that. She actually works for him. Someone has to organize his schedule... And someone handed him the keys to the legally impeccable parts of the Falcone empire. That was all her doing.”

„Are you saying your wife worked for Carmine Falcone?!”

„For years. He trusted her, so she had free access to his documents. And then he died and Esme jumped the ship. Smart girl.”, Misty added fondly. „Sal was doing pretty well even before that, but he didn't say no when she offered him her help. And now she helps him manage all this stuff.”

„Sounds like she runs the town.”

„Someone has to, considering we still don't have a mayor. Nobody wants to be one, after what happened to the last two.”

„From what I heard, Hill had it long coming.”

Misty laughed in response and shook her head, making her long earrings dangle.

„Should've known you're a Penguin apologist.”

They parked one street away from Peperoncino and walked rest of the way. The place was nearly empty; Charlie spotted Jacques tending to the bar, looking as dissatisfied with his life as he did when she first met him.

„Why does Jacques always look so... Pissed off?”, Charlie asked, following Misty to the room at the back. Peperoncino seemed to be a lot bigger inside, than on the outside.

„Oswald kicked him out of his living quarters and to the guest room.”, Misty replied. „He even took his office from him.”

„That's an asshole thing to do.”

„You just summed up everything Oswald had ever done.”

Finally they reached their destination and Misty opened the door, letting her in – or rather out, considering they reached a well-hidden, small patio. First thing she noticed was an obligatory pond with an equally obligatory small fountain; she could also see marble columns and floor tiles.

Two men were sitting at the nearby table, talking about something quietly. Jonathan Crane and Oswald Cobblepot – with Maroni nowhere to be seen.

Crane and Oswald paused their conversation when they realized they're not alone. They turned their heads to look at Charlie and Misty and Charlie could see Oswald's eyes widening in genuine surprise.

„Good evening, gentlemen.”, Misty said briskly, walking up to them; Charlie followed quietly and both men got up.

„Good evening indeed, Haze.”, Crane said cheerfully and briefly hugged Misty. He then turned his attention to Charlie. „And who might your lovely companion be?”

„Charlie.”, she said in response. „Charlie Schiller-Aberdeen.”

Crane's eyes lit up behind his glasses. He took her hand and shook it enthusiastically.

„I remember now!”, he exclaimed. „Harvard University guest lectures attendance list, am I right?”

„Y-you're right.”, she stuttered out, shocked he remembers. Crane nodded, visibly satisfied.

„I always remember people from my lectures. Every single one of them.”, he said, still shaking her hand.

„Jon, you're going to tear her arm off.”, Oswald said from behind Crane's back. Jonathan – visibly flustered – let go and stepped aside, apologizing under his breath.

„Hello, Oswald.”, she said, smiling lightly.

He took her hand and brushed it lightly with his lips, still looking at her with squinted eyes. „Well, this evening just got a lot better.” he eventually said. „Pretty lovely even.”

She noticed dark circles under his eyes. Had he been sleeping at all? It looked like the answer is „no”.

„You're staring.”, she finally said and he smirked in response, not looking away.

„Do you want me to stop?”

„Not really, no. I don't mind having your eyes on me.”, she said without thinking

Somewhere in the background Misty groaned with disgust.

„Glad to hear it.”, he assured her and she smiled. „Let's sit down.”

He pulled out a chair for her and – as he was sliding it back – leaned down and brushed her cheek with his chin, whispering into her ear.

„I have to admit, I love your color scheme tonight.”

He then sat down on the other side of the table and put his hands on the table, fingers laced together, still smirking obnoxiously; she felt a sudden urge to lean forward and kiss him. Would he even mind? Who knows.

„Sal's running late.”, Misty said and sat down next to her, glancing at her phone. „He'll be here in about half an hour.”

„How rude.”, Oswald replied, not looking at Misty and shaking his head with disapproval. „How terribly rude.”

„What, are you going to shoot him for it?”, Misty asked impassively and Oswald only winked in response.

Misty turned her attention to Crane, again leaving Charlie and Penguin to their own devices.

„So, Charlie... Where have you been?”

„Oh, here and there.”, she replied carefully. „I've been... Doing stuff.”

She quickly glanced at Misty and Crane, who were talking – or rather Crane was doing the talking and Misty was doing the listening – and clearly not listening, but she still didn't want to talk about her past endeavours while being within their earshot.

Truth to be told, she wasn't entirely sure if she wants to talk about them at all.

Oswald got the hint.

„You like leaving people unsatisfied, don't you, Charlie?”, he asked her quietly and winked at her seeing her surprised expression. „Are you sure you're not going to sneak out again?”

His voice was oddly tense, despite how relaxed he seemed to bit. It was concerning – and she didn't like the sudden change of direction in this conversation. Oh, she knew the topic of their night together is an elephant in the room and was going to be addressed sooner or later – but she'd really prefer the „later” option.

„Look, Oswald, what happened last time...”

„Is not going to happen again?”, he interrupted her, wincing slightly. „But what if I'm just glad to see you again, no strings attached?”

„There will be a string attached to your neck if you won't let me finish, you know. Or my hands.”

„Love where this is going.”, he said playfully and raised his hands. „Fine, I'll be quiet. Quite like a strangled penguin.”

But she didn't have a chance to finish her sentence, as Salvatore Maroni finally entered the pictured, apologizing for being late.

He was a bit taller than her and a bit shorter than Oswald, very round and as Basset Hound-looking as the pictures on the internet made him look. His thin, black hair were slicked back and his hands were surprisingly small.

He greeted Misty and Crane, promptly ignoring Oswald – who seemed to be ignoring him as well – and turned his attention to Charlie.

„And you must be young lady Spencer Schiller-Aberdeen.”, he said; his voice was low, silky and a bit breathy.

„Pleased to meet you.”

„I'm no longer a Spencer, mister Maroni.”, she corrected him as he was brushing her hand with his unpleasantly moist lips.

„Ah, that's true, my apologies.”, he said, visibly disconcerted. „I've read the news... Terrible what happened, truly terrible. Deepest condolences.”

 _Of course he knew_ , she thought, looking into his dark eyes. _He did his homework on me._

„Anyone cares to explain?”, Oswald asked, raising his eyebrows. Salvatore glanced at him and nodded thoughtfully.

„Her husband perished in a terrible, terrible accident.”, Maroni said quietly. „Such a tragedy. Please-”, he added, once again looking at her „-call me Sal. Can I call you Charlotte? Your name's a real mouthful.”

She smiled and nodded politely, seeing Oswald staring her down out of the corner of her eye. Well, now he knew. She didn't like the way he found out – she didn't like the way Maroni just exposed her, like she was already owing him something and couldn't protest.

Salvatore turned his attention to Misty and Oswald used the occasion to reach out and put his hand on hers.

„You're _married?_ ”, he asked, visibly moved. „Charlie...”

„Can we talk about it later?”, she whispered back, avoiding his eyes. Why did it matter to him anyway? „It doesn't matter now.”

„It does to me!”, he uttered, still agitated. „But fine. We can talk about it later.”

By the time dinner was served, she completely lost both appetite and the need for company. She remained charming – all smiles and small jokes – and attentive, but she was not at all enjoying the evening. Oswald was still glancing at her from time to time and it was unnerving – his smile and that mischievous spark in his eye were gone, replaced with a puzzling, intense gaze that felt like he's trying to get past her physical body and take a look at her soul instead.

Which wasn't in a good shape. What could be a pleasant evening, ended up apparently ruining her chances at getting into Oz's bed again. Now that she saw him in a good mood again – as opposed to the brooding, tense mess he was one week earlier – she decided she wouldn't mind his occasional company. He was still her type, and he was clearly still interested, with all that smirking and gazing; but that seemed to be gone with the wind the moment he found out about her past. For some reason it hurt more than she expected – wouldn't be the first time someone lost interest at some point, but with Oswald it felt different. It felt worse. Almost like a real rejection.

„Charlie, are you alright? You look pale.”, she heard Misty ask and in return smiled and nodded.

„I think I need to excuse myself for a minute.”, she said and got up.

Oswald got up as well.

„I'll show you the way. This place's a bloody maze!”, he said with a forced smile. „Follow me.”

As soon as they were inside the building and the doors closed behind them, he turned around to face her. She almost walked into him; they were standing millimeters apart and the silence was only disrupted by their breaths.

„What?”, she finally asked, crossing her arms. He sighed and stepped back a bit, sitting on the nearby windowsill. He patted it with his hand and she hesitantly sat next to him, folding her hands on her lap and staring at her nails.

„I don't like getting tangled up with married folks, you know.”, he finally said. „Too much of a hassle, every single time. Not worth it.”

„Well, I'm not married anymore, as you probably heard.”, she countered, still asking herself why he cares so much about her marital status. „I'm a widow.”

„But you weren't always a widow. Were you still married back then? Did you... Cheat on someone with me?”

„No.”, she said after a long pause. „I didn't cheat on anybody. I don't cheat.”

„I take it was not a happy relationship then.”

„Can I ask you something?”

„Sure, go ahead.”

„Why do you care so much about me being married? It's just a word. He's not going to come after you.”

„Oh, there's a lot you don't know about me, Charlie.”

„Of course I don't know much about you, dumbass!”, she bridled at him, still staring at her hands. „Last time we skipped the talking.”

„Seems like a good occasion to make up for it. Seems like we both could use a friendly face.”

„I have no idea how to act around you.”, she finally admitted. „Usually once I hook up with someone I just leave and don't come back. I think... I don't remember how it feels to not travel.”

„Lord, me too. Being stuck here – in this one fucking building – it feels like I'm losing my bloody mind. And there's no way to let off some of this steam.”

„Oh, I can think of a way or two...”, she said, feeling bolder than few minutes ago.

He laughed in response and glanced at her briefly; he then reached out and touched the bow on her choker with his fingers. They were exactly as scarred and slender as in her memory.

„So, what's up with the color scheme? Are you trying to pander to me?”

„Maybe so. Is it working?”, she asked; instead of responding, he leaned in and kissed her.

She put her arms around his neck and closed her eyes. His narrow lips felt more familiar, than she expected, and so did his hand on her back, pulling her closer.

Eventually he stopped and moved back a bit; still with his hand on her back she opened her eyes and smiled.

„Does that answer your question?”, he asked with a smirk. „You look lovely tonight. And we should probably get back before Sal decides it's time for a search party.”

„I still need to go to the bathroom through. You never showed me the way. Oh, and Oswald?”

„Yes?” he asked; in the meantime he got up and he was standing with his back to her, ready to lead her to the bathroom.

„You should probably wipe your face. I left some of my lipstick here and there.”

„It seems like covering me in red is your thing. Did it leave a scar?”

„Did what leave a scar?”, she asked before remembering. „Oh. That. No, you didn't bite me _that_ hard.”

„How comes Maroni is so perfectly fine with me knowing about you?”, she asked on their way back to the patio. „Aren't you his dirty little secret?”

„I asked him to trust me on this one. And he did. I said you're trustworthy. Remember how I showed you my mask, back before anyone I knew Penguin and Oswald are one and the same? You didn't rat me out... And I'm grateful.”, he added. „That would really mess my grand plans up.”

The fact he considered her trustworthy left her with butterflies in her stomach. Or maybe she was getting hungry again.

„Yes, your plans. I heard what happened. What you tried to accomplish.”

„Oh? And what do you think?”

„Well, it might not mean much coming from a spoiled member of the social elite, but... It wasn't an entirely terrible cause.”

„I'm having a hard time believing you have any money to your name, Charlie.”

„Is that because I keep trying to get free drinks from you?”

„Precisely.”

She returned to the table in a much better mood. Not everything was lost – Oswald's deep interest in her marital status was still questionable at best and really concerning at worst, but she wasn't looking for anything deep anyway. Just someone to talk to. Just someone to take her breath away every now and then. Just someone to buy her a drink from time to time. Sure, Oswald Cobblepot wasn't exactly what she'd call „the right kind of friend” - but maybe the universe was trying to tell her to give up on right people and instead mingle with all the wrong ones.

Like Salvatore Maroni, for example. Their first meeting wasn't great – she didn't like him. She didn't trust him. Misty assured her time and time again that Sal's a wonderful, trustworthy person – but for Charlie he just seemed like a puppetmaster, treating others less like people and more like one-dimensional pawns. She didn't like people exposing her secrets – she'd rather do it on her own, in the right time.

At least he didn't get into details. That was a plus – even though she was sure he knows everything. He seemed to know a lot about her – everything she didn't want other people to know, everything that could be used to stop her attempts at building a new life, at building something new under the name Schiller-Aberdeen, far away from New York, far away from Perth, far away from a man named Harold Spencer.

Harry... The mere thought of him sent a sudden sting of pain through her heart. Charlie liked to think she left it all behind – but it wasn't the entire truth. What happened with Harry, with her parents, with her name – she couldn't just leave all of this behind. She really didn't appreciate Maroni digging it out in front of people who were supposed to become her new friends, or at least associates.

But still, she decided to give Maroni a shot – she didn't decline his offer of taking her as his plus one to the upcoming mental health fundraiser.

„I'm sure everyone will be absolutely delighted to meet you, Charlotte.”, he assured her and she wondered how their budding relationship is going to be perceived.

Eventually, the evening was over and it was time to part ways. Misty – who drank just one glass of wine too much – couldn't drive.

„A cab maybe?”, Charlie suggested, rubbing her arms with her palms. It was very cold outside and once again she regretted not having a coat.

„Yeah, that seems like our only option, considering Sal disappeared...”, Misty sighed in response, side-eyeing silent Jonathan Crane. „Can you drive?”

„I don't have a license.”, Crane replied in a chipper voice. „I don't live far from here, I can walk.”

„I'm going to freeze to death.”, Charlie sighed.

„You can borrow my coat.”, Oswald suggested suddenly. „It's not like I'm going on any walks anyway. I'd rather not see you turn into a block of ice.”

„Oh, but I thought penguins like ice.”

„Penguins also like fish, but I'd rather die than even look in the general direction of sushi. So take this coat... Or stay the night. That's also an option.”

She laughed and took his coat. What was that thing she saw in his eyes – was it relief, disappointment, a promise? She couldn't tell what's going on in his head – his squinty-eyed, furrowed-brows smile was the perfect mask. It was nice to look at and it filled her lower body with familiar warmth; but it still felt like a mask.

„When do you want it back?”, she asked as she put it on; it was way too big and looked like a potato sack, but at least it was warm. It also smelled like him, especially the collar; and she was sure she spotted some dried up blood on it.

„Whenever.”, he said nonchalantly. „But maybe... Tomorrow? Same time, same place. This time you'll get your drink.”

„See you tomorrow then.”, she said with a smile, planted a kiss on a scruffy cheek and left the building with Misty to find a cab.

„What's up with you two?”, Misty asked, side-eyeing Charlie who was walking next to her, trying to not trip.

„I have a way with people.”, Charlie responded evasively. „And so does he, apparently. He's still a charmer.”

„He's a charmer until he runs out of patience. Then he's just an asshole.”

„He seems to be pretty patient though.”

„Oh, you'd be surprised.”

She knew Misty is right; she knew there is a lot she doesn't know about Cobblepot. Probably a lot of ugly things – but doesn't everyone have an ugly, hidden side? She shouldn't judge. She wasn't in the right position to judge.

Much to her own surprise she realized the thought of getting to know Oswald – _actually_ getting to know him – makes her... Excited.

She was looking forward to finding out what's hiding beneath the surface.

***

That night she – again – dreamt about Cobblepot asking her if she's alright down there. It was a recurring dream; her mind kept coming back to it, like it was important, like it mattered. It was probably the only time someone asked her if she's alright during her road trip, true – but so many other things had happened! She saw sunrises and sunsets and bar fights and car crashes and armed robberies. And yet – her brain decided this is the most noteworthy thing to happen to her.

„Let's romanticize this terrorist, why the fuck not.” she muttered, her eyes still closed. „Bad boy with a heart of gold archetype. Never gets old. Never stops being alluring.”

But those harsh words meant nothing to her. She just couldn't force herself to genuinely care – and be angry or sad - about everything Cobblepot did during his little revolution; it felt so distant. It felt unreal.

(The man who kissed her last night was a murderer and a dangerous criminal. She liked the thrill that came with that thought.)

She could feel the loneliness creeping in again, along with the urge to get up, leave and never come back, like she did so many times. She kind of regretted not getting in touch with her old friends from the previous life; they'd at least fill the silent emptiness with the mindless, meaningless buzzing. She wondered who'd text back if she messaged them right now – and she could only think of Misty, who always texted back, sooner or later.

How to even make friends like a normal person? She didn't know. She never had to know. Friends usually just... Came to her. She never had to actually try to befriend someone.

„What was I doing when I still had everything?” she wondered out loud, finally opening her eyes and staring at the ceiling. Posting on instagram? People loved tasting the luxury and money. Going out with „friends” - who don't deserve to be called this, considering it was shallow and performative on both ends – and getting drunk?

She could barely remember her life before Harry. She couldn't remember what to do when you're staying in one place. She couldn't remember _how_ to stay in one place.

She decided to pay Oswald a visit. An early one. A long one.

His coat was hanging from the nearby chair, looking even more like a sack than it did yesterday. She wondered how is it possible for a piece of clothing to look so good on a person and so bad in any other situation – usually it was the other way around.

Or maybe it was Oswald himself, who was making this work.

It was late morning when she arrived at Peperoncino, wearing a sundress and holding the biggest cup of lemonade the nearby cafe had to offer. She tucked the coat in a bag; she set it down with a quiet _thump_ as she sat on a stool.

Jacques was behind the counter, like usual.

„Really?”, he asked, glancing at her. „Coming to a bar with your own drink? Classy.”

„I'm not here for a drink. Can I go upstairs?”

„Is this a booty call?”

She snorted quietly and shook her head.

„No, I have something that belongs to him. I want to give it back.”

„That's cold.” Jacques said quietly – almost too quietly for her to hear.

„I'm sorry, what?”

„No, no, nothing. Go ahead. It's not like I can just tell you to stay here and expect you to respect it.”

„Jacques, what is your problem with me exactly? I just got here. I don't even know you.”

„My problem is with that douche upstairs, taking up my living space. It's nothing personal. Well, it might turn personal if you'll move in as well, but here's to hoping for the best.”

Only then Charlie noticed how tired Jacques is. Sure, he was standing straight and talking with no problem and had no dark circles – but his eyes were so, so tired.

„Is he really so bad to have around?”

„He is the worst. We used to be friends, but... I think I preferred it when he was gone and not here. Anyway.”

He sighed and yawned.

„Go ahead. Let me know if you need anything. Like... A really big knife.”

She gathered her stuff and went upstairs, leaving the ginger, tired bartender to his own devices.

Peperoncino's upper floor was spacious and quiet. Lots of closed doors, lots of rugs, lots of potted plants – and quiet sounds of living coming from the nearby room.

„Knock knock.”, she said opening the door with her free hand and not actually knocking. „Guess who.”

The office that used to belong to Jacques looked like it was recently and hastily redecorated – most of the furnitures had been pushed out, leaving the center empty.

Cobblepot was there, working out – as she entered he was doing push ups.

„I wasn't expecting you this early.”, he said without stopping, glancing at her; his hair was sticking to his forehead, as he was covered in sweat. „But good morning. Mind if I finish?”

„Oh, by all means, do go on.” she said with a smirk and took a sip of her cold drink. She set her bag down on a floor and sat on the nearest surface – the surface being a heavy, mahogany desk – enjoying the view.

He still had strong arms, and she could see the muscles on his scars-covered back. She remembered dragging her nails across his warm skin and she remembered his iron grip on her wrists.

„Are you really so bored?”, she asked, crossing her legs. In response Oswald laughed and shook his head, switching to one arm push ups.

„I used to be a boxer, you know. Old habits die hard.”

That made a lot of sense, she decided. It was obvious he knows how to fight, and his scars were telling a story of a lot of fights.

Watching his muscles move under his skin made her feel a familiar tingle in her underbelly. Wasn't the first time she felt it in his company, and she was sure it won't be the last; she wondered if he also feels it.

„Are there some vids of your fights?”, she asked, taking an ice cube out of her cup and putting it in her mouth. She often humored herself with a thought of Oswald covered in bruises and blood, the latter being preferably not his own; she wondered if all she has to do to get it is to simply ask.

„Probably, yeah. Would have to dig a bit for them, considering it was all illegal, but I'm sure someone kept a few files. But you'll have to ask nicely. There's something in the word _please_ that really motivates me.” he said with a wink.

He was talking effortlessly, as if he wasn't just putting almost all of his weight on one arm.

Watching him was oddly hypnotic and she wondered if he knows. If he's just showing off.

He switched to sit ups, facing her, and she noticed some new scars on his torso.

„Is that Batman's doing?”

„Pretty much.”

„You should drink something. You'll dehydrate.”

„Your concern is very touching.”, he said mockingly, winking at her. „I know what I'm doing. Years of experience, Charlie.”

She liked hearing him say her name out loud. The way it rolled out of his mouth, the way he always said the second syllable a bit lower than the first one.

She wondered if he'd like the sensation of ice cube sliding across his hot skin.

He finished his sit ups and got up, drenched in sweat. She winced slightly; he needed a shower, asap.

„Be a darling, give me some of this.” he said, reaching for her cup. She handed it to him and he emptied it in one big swig, only leaving ice cubes at the bottom.

„I'll add it to your list.” she said, watching his Adam's apple move slightly.

„What list?”

„List of drinks you owe me. One day my patience will run out.”

„Oh, is that a threat? I'm terrified.”, he assured her with a squinty-eyed smile and put the – now mostly empty – cup down. „Give me a moment, I'll take a shower and be right back.”

„Take your time, I actually do have a whole day.”

„So, to what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked after leaving the bathroom, his hair dripping wet.

„I need company.” she replied simply. „Being alone worked when I was on the road. Now, when I'm settling down... It doesn't feel so hot.”

„So you're really staying? For good?”

„What, does Gotham have a problem with outsiders? Am I breaking some old, unspoken rule?”

„No, no. I just want to make sure this is not our last conversation.”

He winked at her.

„I want my last words to you to be truly memorable. But since you're not planning on leaving... Maybe I'll cool it down with grand speeches and one-liners. Talk like a normal person for once.”

„Are you... Calling yourself out?”

„Oh, I've got a penchant for theatrics and flaunting my eloquence left and right. It annoys some... And charms the others.”

„You love listening to the sound of your own voice, don't you?”

„Seems like I'm not the only one.”

Charlie laughed in response. Oswald definitely had a point – she did like listening to him. He had a way with words. And a nice voice.

„Maybe, maybe not.”

He sat down on a nearby couch, taking up all the space. He cocked his head, staring at her.

„What?” she finally asked when the sudden silence got heavier. It started to feel like a mistake, coming there. Like a foolish thing to do, a naive thing. What happened yesterday implied chemistry – but he was probably just bored. She was probably just bored.

„Let's act like normal people for once.” he said. „What do normal people do when they're hanging out?”

„Get drunk. Go shopping. Watch movies. You know”, she added „it's kinda sad. The fact we have trouble figuring this out.”

„We're not exactly regular people with regular lives, Charlie. Well, at least I'm not. You're still an enigma.”

„You could just google me, you know.”

„I know, but I'm not going to. I want to hear it from you. Come on, let's invade Jackie's living room.”

He got up and left and she followed, watching his bare back. Did he mean what he just said? She couldn't tell. He somehow tricked the entire city into thinking he's a good replacement for Bruce Wayne; she knew he probably could manipulate her as well.

_Changing your mind already, Charlie? You were so eager to give him a chance despite what he did. You little hypocrite._

She ignored her inner voice – like she did a lot of times before – and tried to have a nice afternoon with a potential friend-with-benefits, like normal people do.

It didn't work. It took Oswald about an hour to realize something is wrong – or maybe he knew right away, but wanted to let it simmer a bit.

Her paranoia was kicking in, it seems.

„You look... Tense.”

He was sitting very close, too close, not close enough. She shrugged, staring at a wall.

„Charlie?”

„It'll pass.” she muttered. „It... It's nothing.”

Was his concern genuine? She didn't know. What was he trying to accomplish? She didn't know. What was _she_ trying to accomplish? She didn't know. All she knew was that she desperately didn't want him to dig any deeper. To allow her to have her secrets and a dead body in the closet and a reason for her overwhelming doubts.

He – slowly, carefully – put his hand on her knee and she turned around and impulsively, suddenly kissed him, desperate to distract him, to make him not push any further.

It worked, initially. He kissed her back and pulled her closer, but gently pushed her away as she tried to get him to undress her.

„Charlie, pardon my language, but... What the fuck?” he asked, keeping her at arm's length .

„What? You're not into me anymore?” she asked in response, trying to keep her head high.

„You are on a verge of a mental breakdown, it seems. This... This isn't right.”

„Killing people isn't right, Oswald. Didn't stop... You.”

He seemingly didn't notice the strange pause.

„There's a difference between killing a corrupt politician and... This. I don't even have a word for this and I have a word for everything.”

„I was talking about the debate moderator. Didn't stop you from killing him.”

„What exactly are you trying to accomplish here, Charlie?” he asked, looking her in the eye. „Are you trying to shame me? Fuck me? Distract me?”

„A bit of everything, I suppose.”

„I'm flattered. No, really. Very few things are more flattering than this kind of attention coming from a lovely dame. But this isn't right.”

„You have a weird sense of right and wrong.”

„Maybe. But at least I stick to it. Get back to me on a good day, Charlie. Get back to me when you just want to have some fun, no puppet strings attached. I'll wait. It's not like I even can go anywhere.”

He didn't question her sudden mood swing. He didn't push. He did everything right; but when she left the building she felt like she wants to disappear forever. Or finally open up to someone. Run away. Stay. Forget about everything. Keep him.

She wanted some very conflicting things.

„Maybe I'll flip a coin.” she muttered to herself on her way back to the hotel, as the taxi she was in stopped by the red light. „Let physics decide.”

„What?” the driver said and she shook her head.

„I'm talking to myself.”

„Happens to the best of us.”

 _And the worst_.

***

She spent rest of the day alone in her apartment, her loneliness only interrupted by – quiet, helpful, polite – room service. She was sad and torn, but a girl still has to eat; and that hotel had some damn good truffles to offer.

Charlie had no idea what had gotten into her before. This sudden surge of paranoia, overthinking, anxiety; it all had happened before, but to a smaller, more manageable degree. The world was a shitty place and people were in general terrible – but that was the first time something like _this_ had happened.

Maybe the reality of what happened was slowly setting in. Maybe staying in one place caused her brain to work everything out in the background. Maybe she was more messed up than she thought. Maybe this all – Harry, her trip, his death – affected her more than she realized.

There was also another matter at hand; the familiar, warm tingling she felt when watching Oswald hadn't left her - she ignored it for the rest of the day, but it was there and it didn't seem like it's going anywhere.

She felt like Cobblepot is touching those parts of her soul she reserved as bedroom-exclusive. Watching him made her realize just how into him she really is – she wanted to relive their one night together, but maybe make it last longer. She wanted him to pin her to bed again and render her helpless – in a good way that can be stopped at any moment.

She closed her eyes and then she saw it again, like it was imprinted inside her eyelids; Oswald pushing himself up on one arm, effortlessly, his muscles moving slightly, faint laughter in the background.

She wanted him to be there. She wanted him to help; and she was sure he'd be more than happy to do so.

The thought of his obnoxious, squinty-eyed smirk sent a sudden shiver through her body and she sighed, opening her eyes and staring at the ceiling.

„Go away.”, she muttered under her breath, her hand reaching between her legs. „Fuck off.”

What did she want?

She wanted many things. She wanted to feel his stubble on her skin, his lips on her neck, his hands on her thighs, his presence next to her, his breath intertwined with hers. She wanted him; and with her hand on her mound she wondered if at this moment he's also thinking about her. How he sees her in his head, when he's alone and only has his memories.

He was patient and she wondered if he'd use it to keep her on the edge, if he'd make her beg. He probably would; he liked making people say „please” - he said it himself, winking at her.

Her other hand slipped under her shirt and cupped her breast and Charlie closed her eyes again and let go, indulging herself in maybes and woulds and wants.

***

The fundraiser Salvatore invited her to was held in a private garden, belonging to... She didn't remember the name nor she cared about it. She still had time to learn the names of Gotham's social elite.

She had to, at some point, considering she was about to become one of them.

They were on their way there, in Maroni's limousine. They didn't talk much; in fact they didn't talk at all. She was looking through the window and occasionally glancing at her reflection, checking if everything's in its place.

„Charlotte.”

„Yes?” she responded, not looking at him.

„Did something happen between you and Oswald?”

„What do you mean?” she asked, trying to buy herself some time. Carefully, she looked at him; his brows were furrowed and he seemed to be lost in thoughts.

„Jacques told me about your visit last week. And ever since then... Oswald had been acting strange.”

„I'd rather not talk about-”

„Charlotte.” he interrupted her, still speaking as monotonously as always. „What are your plans regarding him?”

That was an excellent question and she had quite a few answers available - „I want him to fuck my brains out”. „I want him to be my booty call that I'll hook up with few times a week”. „I want him to be my friend, he seems nice, except for all the killing”. „I think he might be able to mend me back together, slowly, piece be piece”. „I think we might be able to mend each other back together”.

The last two came seemingly out of nowhere and she almost winced, surprised by her own sudden sentimentality.

„I'm not a threat, Salvatore.” she said instead, finally turning her head to face him. „I'm not going to endanger him.”

„This is not what I asked, but alright. Have it your way.” he agreed politely and impassively; a sharp reminder he's not that easy to trick. „I trust you'll not tell anyone about his whereabouts.”

„This secret is safe with me.” she assured him, nervously clutching her leather purse.

Maroni nodded solemnly and the car stopped.

„Smile, Charlotte.” she heard Maroni say quietly as he helped her get out of the car. „Everyone's looking.”

He wasn't lying – people were staring, undoubtedly wondering who's this young redhead at Maroni's side and if it's a custom Vera Wang that she's wearing.

She quickly looked around, giving people her best smile and looking out for any familiar faces – she remembered some old family friends mentioning Gotham once or twice. But no; nobody looked even remotely familiar. It seemed like she's on her own.

Maroni was quietly greeting other people and introducing her and she absentmindedly followed, not registering neither names nor faces. She only came back to Earth when she heard the word „condolences”.

„I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that... I'm a bit out of it tonight.” she said apologetically and the other woman nodded, her face expressing the purest sympathy.

„I said I'm deeply sorry about your husband, Charlotte. A terrible loss.”

„Depends on your definition of „terrible”, really.” she said without thinking and the other woman – Regina Zellerbach, she remembered suddenly – blinked in surprise.

It's been months since her last fancy party and she felt like a fish out of water. It wasn't long before she started – politely, calmly – to argue with someone. They said Penguin was a worthless, mindless beast. She disagreed.

„He was robbed.” she said to the exceptionally calm man, who had unspeakable anger in his eyes. „And basically orphaned. Left alone.”

„That doesn't excuse anything.”

„But it _explains_ it. And also raises an interesting question – would it happen if someone was there for him?”

„Bruce Wayne didn't turn to the life of crime.”

„Because he had someone to guide him. Oswald Cobblepot didn't.”

Another person joined the conversation; a tall woman with olive skin and dark curls, carefully styled to look elegantly messy.

„Cobblepot is a menace.” she stated seriously, taking a sip of her champagne. „Some people... Just have the evil within them. He'd turn bad no matter what. And he'll never be satisfied, no matter what he gets. He just wants chaos and destruction. He just wants to see the world burn.”

The man nodded with satisfaction, turned around and left and Charlie felt like she's about to strangle the dark-haired stranger, who was looking at her calmly, still sipping her drink.

„You know...” she said finally „I made this speech about Oswald being a menace about fifteen times now – and people always eat it up.”

„I wonder why.” Charlie responded, crossing her arms and staring at the stranger suspiciously. „Who are you?”

„Louise McDonagh, assistant district attorney, head of the Penguin investigation and a friend of a friend. Want to hear something funny?”

„Yeah?”

„Oz actually helped me write this speech.”

Louise winked at her and Charlie felt relief washing over her. She laughed out quietly and shook her head.

„Should've guessed. You sounded very convincing.”

„Of course I did, I went to Juilliard. I'm incredible at pretending.”

„Nice to meet you, Louise.”

„Likewise... Charlie. Oh, please!” she laughed seeing Charlie's concerned face. „Of course I know about you. Esme told me. And so did... Tommy.” she said as other people passed them.

„Oh? What did he say?”

„Wouldn't you like to know. Sorry. That stays between me and his sorry ass.”

„Salvatore has friends in interesting places, it seems.”

„Oh, but I'm not exactly Salvatore's friend. I'm friends with his protégé, his secretary and his IT guy, but I'm no friend of his. There's no connection between us... Officially.”

„Then shouldn't you be avoiding being seen with me?”

„Conversing with people at fundraisers is not a crime, as far as I'm concerned. Naturally some conversations are so boring they might as well be declared illegal though. Walk with me, I'll show you around.”

They went for a walk. Charlie politely ignored the majority of men and equally politely smiled to other women, who usually smiled back.

„Don't look now, but I've spotted Bruce Wayne.” Louise said quietly at some point. „He's going to turn around... Now. Aaaaand he's heading here. Fucking great.”

„Good evening.” was the first thing Bruce Wayne said to her.

„Good evening.” was what she said back; „go fuck yourself” was what she wanted to say. She wasn't too fond of him, even though she never met him – she suspected she got some of this disdain from spending time with Oswald. They never talked about Wayne during their few, brief meetings – but she knew he still hates his old childhood friend who grew up with almost everything Oswald lost.

„I don't think we've met.” Bruce said, looking her in the eye; his eyes had similar color to hers, she noticed.

In person he was a bit taller and wider than on pictures she saw of him.

„That's because we haven't. I'm not from around here. I'm Charlotte. Charlotte Schiller-Aberdeen.”

He seemed to be politely ignoring Louise and she seemed to be doing the same exact thing.

„Ah, right, Schiller-Aberdeens reside in New York, am I right? Please tell me I'm right.”

„You're almost right, mister Wayne.” she said calmly. „You should be using past tense. I'm the last of my family – for now – and as you can see... I'm not in New York anymore.”

He seemed surprised. She smiled at him, even though her eyes remained perfectly indifferent.

„I hope Gotham will treat you well. Now please excuse me...” he said, turned around and left. Louise left out an annoyed sigh and rolled her eyes.

„I'll take you two are not exactly best friends.”

„I hate this asshole.” Louise said bluntly and shortly. „I hate his guts. It's mutual. I used to be a social worker, you know? I said he's not fit to be an adoptive parent to anyone. I stopped being a social worker shortly after that.”

„Why is he unfit?”

„Something about him just feels... Wrong. Like he never really worked through what happened. Until he finally deals with that – and puts his parents to rest – he shouldn't be taking care of anyone, but himself.”

„That's harsh.”

„But true. No child deserves to be raised by someone who'll only end up projecting onto them, destroying them in the process.”

Charlie's phone buzzed in her purse and she took it out. She got a text informing her of a package waiting for her at the front desk of the hotel she was staying at; which was odd, because she absolutely didn't remember ordering anything.

Louise tilted her head, watching Charlie's battered phone with cracked screen.

„And what the hell happened to this little thing?”

„Months on the road.” Charlie replied shortly. „I'll get a new one... Eventually.”

„Oh, you will. The latest tech, straight from the lab.”

„What?”

„You didn't know? We don't use just any store-bought phones. We're using custom made state-of-the-art models Sal's main tech guy fixes up in his spare time.”

„Are you serious?”

„Dead serious. Wayne Tech outside for the looks, Luthor Tech inside for the security and best emojis. You could hack into Pentagon using one of these. Eddie truly is a magician... And a reason Ozzie still has any contact with the outside world. Oh, speak of the devil.” she sighed, looking at her own phone. „I think he's feeling lonely.”

„Let's not talk about him.” she said, despite her inner voice practically begging her to ask about him for some ungodly reason.

„Agreed. Let me just text him back... And now maybe let's find Sal. I haven't seen him tonight.”

„Now that you mention it... Shouldn't I be at his side, considering I'm his plus one?”

„Nah. People saw you arrive with him, that's all that matters. Now come on, I want some cheese. Sal's always somewhere next to cheese.”

They found him next to caviar. Its sight made Charlie shudder – caviar was one of things she didn't at all miss. Who even _eats_ this? Who actually _enjoys_ it?

Gotham social elite, it seemed.

„You look pale.” Louise pointed out, after warmly greeting Maroni, who kissed her on her cheeks.

„I want a cheeseburger.”

„Trust me, I sympathize. I'd kill for some fries. Where are you staying?”

„The Peak.”

„Oh, I'm jealous. There's a great burger joint right around the corner from there. They're open all night, they deliver _and_ you can order online. Truly, the owner is a god among mortal men.”

Louise waved her hands enthusiastically when saying that and Charlie smiled and nodded. Gotham seemed to be filled with open, direct women – and this one seemed like a good friend material. And a right kind of friend, in addition – being friends with the ADA seemed like a smart move.

_And being friends with the ADA who's protecting someone you want to fuck is an even smarter move, obviously._

After the party came to an end Charlie said goodbye to Louise – and again entered Salvatore's limousine, taking her phone out to find that amazing burger place her new friend recommended.

„Hey, Salvatore.” she said not looking up from her screen. „When are you going to hook me up with your tech guy? I could use a new phone.”

„It's already taken care of.” Maroni replied quietly and she knew he's not even looking in her general direction.

„So, this whole arrangement... How is it going to work anyway?”

„What do you mean, Charlotte?”

„Us. What exactly do you expect from me?”

„You're exceptionally rich, Charlotte. It's old money – and completely unrelated to Gotham. And your name... Carries a certain weight in certain circles.”

„So it's all about my money and my name. I'm okay with that. You're not going to use it to try and conquer the world, right?”

„Heavens, no. I'm using my assets to build a safety net for Oswald.”

„Wait, seriously? All that – just for _him_?”

„One day you'll understand, Charlotte.”

 _Charlotte._ She never liked the full version of her name and she felt like one day Salvatore's going to address her as _Charlotte Beatrice Elizabeth._

Though she could understand taking ridiculous measures to ensure someone's safety. She wasn't sure if she'd go this far for this particular person – even if she _really_ didn't want him to get caught, at least not any time soon – but she could imagine herself sinking tons of money in making sure someone close to her is safe. Like her parents. She'd be ready to pay for that, if only it was possible.

She missed them. A lot. And hadn't visited them since the funeral; she avoided thinking about their grave, about the cold marble, about their names and dates, engraved there forever.

„Thank you, Charlotte.” Maroni said as she was leaving the car and trying to not trip over her dress.

On her way to the elevator she stopped by the front desk, to get her mysterious package – it turned out to be a single white rose, with a note attached to the stem.

„That's a new.” she muttered quietly and turned her eyes to the visibly tired receptionist. „Leslie, right?”

„That's right.”

„Thank you.” she said softly, tipping the young man. „There will be a food delivery for me, will you let them in?”

„Certainly. Have a good night, miss.”

Only in the elevator she read the note. It said simply „Feeling better?” in a slightly messy cursive – but what really made her smile was a phone number, hastily scribbled under the question. Of course. He couldn't resist. She didn't know why she's even surprised, considering she already knew about that one time he gave an interview while in hiding.

She left her dress on the nearest chair and put her fluffiest robe on; only after washing her makeup off she finally reached for her phone.

 _hey,_ she texted. The answer came almost immediately.

**C?**

_[rose emoji]_

**Feeling better?**

_Why do you ask?_

**Because I can borrow a car and drop by.**

_It's dangerous._

**1\. I like danger. 2. I'll manage.**

_Room 362._

**I know. I'll be there in 20.**

He showed up on time – as the food delivery girl was taking her money, Charlie saw Oswald enter the corridor. Seeing the other person he stopped and quietly turned around, disappearing in the nearby fire exit.

As the elevator doors closed behind the girl he reappeared with a shit eating grin on his face.

„That was close.” he stated. „Come on, let me in before someone actually sees me.”

„What brings you here anyway?” she asked, setting her – already forgotten – food on the table and locking the door behind him.

„Boredom. Loneliness. Insomnia.”

„And I'm the cure to all of this?”

„Who knows, maybe.”

He paused for a moment, staring at her. His face lightened up.

„That's the first time I'm seeing your freckles, you know.”

„That's the fifth time in total you see me at all.”

„Yes, and the last time didn't go so great, now did it?”

Was _that_ why he decided to suddenly sneak out of Peperoncino and pay her a visit?

„Sorry about that.”

„Do you want to... Talk about it? Because I think we should.”

„You're not my therapist, Oz.”

„No, but I'm your friend. Or that's what I'm trying to be, at least.” he quickly corrected himself. „We're all friends, thanks to Maroni.”

„Is this why you're here? To give me a pep talk?”

„I wanted to see you. Imagining you is one thing, but having you in person... Is a whole lot better.”

He winked at her and she laughed, blushing furiously, like redheads do.

„That's a very nice way of saying that. I'm impressed.”

Knowing she wasn't the only one getting off to her imagination and wishful thinking was oddly comforting. What was even more comforting was that she was on his mind often enough to eventually make him act upon it.

_Or maybe..._

_No. Shut up. Not tonight. Shut up._

He made a step in her direction. She didn't move. He took another step. And another one.

He was standing close enough for her to see every detail of his face. _God,_ she thought, staring at him, her head tilted slightly, _he's hot._

„Is this going to become a regular thing?” she asked quietly, taking his hand and gently stroking it with her fingertips. „Hm?”

„It might, if you're up for it. I know I am.”

„We should talk this out, you know. Work out the details. Boundaries. Preferences.”

She was mostly joking – it could wait a bit.

But he seemed to be very serious when he said „Oh, you're absolutely right. Let's talk this through.”

„Wow, I played myself.” she sighed as they sat down on a couch and he smirked and she instantly knew that somehow, _somehow –_ he planned all of this.

„Is that what gets you off?” she asked, crossing her arms and he raised his eyebrows in fake shock.

„What do you mean?”

„Denial. Is that what gets you off?”

„Is that what gets _you_ off, Charlie?”

„Yes.”

„Hardly surprising.”

„Hey, fuck you.”

„Ah, but we'll get to that... Eventually.”

She was starting to feel way too hot in her ridiculously fluffy robe; after all, when she put it on she didn't expect it to stay on for so long.

„Can you at least get me out of this? I'm going to overheat and die. And I hope you're not into that.”

„Temperature play is fine, but cooking people alive is a bit extreme even for me. Come 'ere.”

She shuffled closer and he – methodically, slowly – got her out of her bathrobe, leaving her only in her underwear.

But she didn't mind that, not at all – and he didn't seem to pay any attention at all to her freckled skin.

_Asshole._

„So, Charlie, now that you're comfortable...”

„I'll be comfortable once I come. Come on. Ask away. Let's get this over with.”

„Stop trying to hurry me up, I actually like watching you squirm.”

She glanced at him and he winked at her and she wanted to just grab him by his shirt and either kiss him or bite his tongue off. Or maybe pull his face to her neck. Or a bit lower. Yes. That'd work as well.

It took him about fifteen minutes to finally get to the point and ask her what she likes. It took her approximately five seconds to list everything she could think of without sounding too desperate.

„And what about you?” she finally asked, half genuinely curious half hoping he'll just ignore the question.

„How surprised would you be if I said boxing actually gets me off?”

„I'm not going to punch you.”

„I don't mind rough treatment, that's what I'm trying to tell you.”

„I'm going to fucking bite you.”

„See? Exactly what I'm talking about.”

Finally her patience gave up and she did what she wanted to do for some time now – grabbed him by the shirt, pulled him close and kissed him, letting go the moment he put his hand on her back.

„I'm going to bed.” she informed him. „Join me or fuck off.”

She got up and left the room, her dramatic exit only slightly ruined by her tripping over her shoes she left on the floor.

He soon followed and she sighed with relief. He closed the bedroom doors behind them – _fucking gentleman –_ and pushed her onto bed, only having time to get his shirt off before she pulled him closer, biting his neck and dragging her nails across his back.

„At least let me warm up, wouldn't you?” he said unsuccessfully trying to grab her hands. She laughed in his face.

„Oh, but I thought that's how you like it!”

„Maybe.” he muttered, his lips an inch away from her neck. „But you're still on a losing position 'ere.”

After a short struggle they ended up exactly the way she wanted them to; half undressed, tangled together. Just like in her thoughts, just like last time, he was holding her wrists and smirking, as she groaned and whined, firmly refusing to say that one word.

(She just didn't want him to stop. She wanted to test his patience, just a bit.)

His hand was on her lace-covered mound and his lips were on her neck and she was feeling so, so warm; her eyes flung open when he gently bit the skin around her left nipple.

„Have you considered getting it pierced?”

„I did.” she muttered back. „In college.”

„You should do it. Opens some beautiful opportunities.”

„Can't you just shut up and get me off?”

„I can, but I'm not going to.” he said, his hand sliding inside her undies. „I want to hear you say please.”

It took him about an hour to finally make her crack and say „please” breathlessly, desperately, needily. Her face was flushed and her aching, heated skin was covered in bitemarks and he was holding her, smirking proudly as he fingered her.

„That didn't sound convincing.” he said with fake doubt in his voice. „Maybe try pretty please.”

„Pretty please, you... Fuckbird.” she panted out the first thing that came to mind, budging her hips and he laughed in her face and then kissed her and let her go and she put her arms around him and pulled him closer, closer, closer.

He left her hotel room with a lot of new scratch marks on his back, and at least one bite mark on his shoulder as the sun was rising, the rich Gotham still asleep, blissfully unaware. As he was leaving, he stole two things from her – one last kiss and her forgotten double cheeseburger with fries. He left the room-temperature vanilla shake though. Maybe he didn't like room temperature milkshakes.

„Oswald, leave it alone!” she called out to him from her bed, not moving. He only laughed and shook his head.

„Add this to my list!”

And just like that he left and she slowly fell asleep, her dreams for once free of Oswald Cobblepot.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://transgressivepotato.tumblr.com/post/167643606500/catch-me-like-a-cold-iiii

Next few weeks were pretty busy for Charlie – she had a social life to build and a house to buy. Her decision to settle down seemed to be final; she felt like Gotham is a place where she belongs.

Also, Gotham had Oswald Cobblepot and his wicked, wicked tongue – and as much as she valued his company and skills, she wasn't sure if she values them enough to take him with her, assuming she'd drop everything and hit the road again. She had to stay if she wanted to keep Oswald around.

And she wanted that. Oh, she definitely did; after their sudden hookup in her hotel room they met up a few more times, always at her apartment; he claimed the thrill of sneaking out of his cage and stealing his friend's car keeps him going. And who was she to deny him what he needed?

(It was always him who was doing the denying anyway.)

His presence felt... Nice. That word wasn't doing him full justice, but it had to do – she wasn't the overly eloquent one. His presence felt comforting and she was almost sad every time he had to get up and leave.

(She almost asked him to stay during the day once, but ultimately bit her tongue and said nothing, watching him put on his coat and blow her a goodbye kiss.)

Oswald was a very pleasant distraction, keeping her mind away from the intrusive thoughts, rewarding her struggles with staying in place. Also he seemed honest in his enthusiasm – and she knew he's a master manipulator, oh, she knew it damn well. He manipulated the extremely calm and collected Bruce Wayne into punching him in his face, while Bruce's last ally at the board was watching. He could easily manipulate her into feeling safe – so she did her best to not allow herself to feel safe, to feel at home with him around. She felt desired, yes – but she did her best to keep it impersonal. To never call their relationship „friends with benefits” - they were simply a series of one night stands, with some very thin strings attached.

(But she enjoyed those moments when they weren't having sex. She enjoyed simply having his eyes on her, she enjoyed the simple feeling of his warm, relaxed body next to hers, she enjoyed the way his eyes would light up when he made her laugh at one of his terrible jokes. She liked the way he spoke her name, the fact he seemed to be interesting in small things she had to say, the fact he seemed to genuinely _want_ her to settle down. Maybe he wanted her money, maybe he wanted to get her on his side and to use her to get away from Maroni, maybe she was simply a distraction for him as well, maybe he genuinely liked something about her – all were valid options.)

Only once they hooked up in a place other than her hotel apartment and it was Peperoncino. It happened after another dinner party; this time she was invited as her own person, rather than someone's plus one. She heard Maroni's old friend returned to Gotham and that he wanted to greet her properly, as well as introduce her to the new blood among his people. Charlie didn't know a lot about Fish – the mysterious friend – as she seemed to avoid the public eye; she was running a popular nightclub that was closed for the time being, as nobody could be trusted with running it during her absence.

The evening seemed to be interesting, as everybody was going to be there – even including people Charlie hadn't met yet. She already received her state-of-the-art phone from Maroni's tech guy – Edward Nygma – and it was working like a charm; she was curious what kind of person spends their free time tinkering with phones and operating systems for the sake of a beloved loner. She was also curious about the personalities of Maroni's two men on the force – street cop Wilson and detective Bullock.

When she got to Peperoncino's well-hidden patio, only Crane and Jacques were there. As she entered, Crane got up to greet her – Jacques didn't, instead only nodding in her general direction.

(She prefered bartender's way of greeting her, actually. Felt more natural. Felt more like something she was used to.)

„Since you're not sitting anyway, can you go and fetch Cobblepot for us?” Jacques asked her carelessly and Crane shot him a scandalized look. „He's taking forever to get ready. Fucking narcissus.”

„Sure.” she said shortly, turned around and walked away, her heels clicking rhythmically on marble – and then wooden – floor.

Oswald was trying to decide between two ties in similar shades of yellow, when she entered the room without knocking.

„Always a pleasure.” he said, still staring at his reflection in Jacques's giant mirror. „Which one is better?”

„Both are equally terrible. The right one looks like a good quality silk though.”

She winked at him and in response he smirked and turned around. He still looked good in a suit, and this thing looked custom made – perfectly tailored, in a deep, nearly black shade of blue.

„Care to help me out with it?” he asked, coming closer.

„Yellow tie with a dark blue suit, Oswald? You are a disaster.” she sighed, tying it for him, his eyes on her face.

„But a beautiful one.”

She finally looked up and her eyes met his. There it was – this mischievous spark, a sign of trouble, a promise.

„True.” she admitted, finally stepping back and watching as he slightly loosens the knot, his eyes still on her. „Now come on. I don't want Jacques and Crane to get any funny ideas.”

„They wouldn't be wrong though.” he said, putting his arm around her waist, just like he did when they first met and he was pretending she's his good friend. „Plus I'm sure Jacques noticed I've been borrowing his car.”

„Maybe he thinks you're having fishing trips.”

„Darlin', the only thing I'd fish out of the Gotham River are corpses. No, he knows about our little thing. Speaking of which... Don't drink too much wine tonight.” he suddenly whispered, brushing her temple with his lips. „Alright?”

„Fine.” she muttered back, not sure how to interpret this sudden, quiet act of tenderness. Sure, he was trying to tell her to not get drunk, because he wanted to have some fun – but the rest was a mystery wrapped in an enigma.

When they returned – his arm still around her – other people had arrived. Maroni and his mysterious lady friend were nowhere to be seen, but she still could see some new faces. Both men were chatting with Esme and Misty; eventually the former noticed Charlie and Oswald and smiled at them.

„Charlie!” she called out in her slightly raspy voice. „Have you met my brother?”

„Not yet, no.” Charlie replied, approaching them, Oswald following few steps behind. „But the night's still young.”

Esme's brother was named Rocco, Rocco Wilson. He was a calm, young man of Pakistani descent; he and Esme were adoptive siblings and were close friends before they even got adopted.

„We told them we come as a joint package.” Rocco said with a smile, gently squeezing his sister's hand as she looked at him with her gorgeous, almond-shaped eyes the color of the full moon. „They were meaning to take us both anyway, but we wanted to be absolutely sure. And here we are!”

„Here you are indeed, waiting for Sal, who's running late to his own damn party.” a man standing next to them agreed, cocking his head. „Cobblepot.”

„Bullock.” Oswald greeted him reservedly. „Long time no see, detective.”

„Damn, Oswald, cut me some slack, wouldn't ya? Unlike some, I have a job to keep.”

He lit up a cigarette and looked at Charlie.

„And you must be Charlotte.”

„No, I'm Charlie.” she corrected him. „Sal's the only one to call me that. Let's keep it that way.”

„Noted. I'm Bullock. Harvey Bullock. Also... Hungry.”

„You're always hungry, Bullock.” Jacques claimed, approaching them with a glass of wine. „But same. Do you think Sal and Fish will be mad if we start without them?”

„Yes. And that's a damn great argument to do it.”

„Well, count me out. I've peeked into the kitchen. Fish. Lots and lots of fish.” Oswald said, looking disgusted. „Someone's trying to kill me.”

„Oh, but I thought penguins love fish!” Charlie said, gently nudging him with her elbow and he grimaced and shuddered.

„Not this penguin. I despise fish.”

„Oh, but I'm sure there's at least _one_ fish you love, isn't there, pretty boy?”

The voice coming from the patio door didn't belong to anyone Charlie knew; it was sultry and smooth like silk.

When she turned around to see who said that she saw the elusive Fish Mooney herself – and it felt a bit like a revelation, the way her intensively purple fringe played with her dark skin and the way her expensive cocktail dress hugged her hips and the way her heels made the marble tiles sing. It felt a bit like a revelation and a bit like falling in love – it was something in her aura, something in her step.

Or maybe it was something in the way Oswald's face lit up when he saw her and spread his arms and pulled her into a tight embrace as she kissed his cheeks.

„Fish bloody Mooney, I'll be damned.” he said, visibly overjoyed. „Finally!”

„Ah, I knew you'll be happy to see me, boy.” she said with a sly grin, ignoring everyone else, her eyes on Oswald and his eyes on her.

(For a brief moment Charlie felt an odd sting somewhere near her heart.)

„Have you been bad?”

„I've been absolutely despicable, Fish.”

„Good. That's my Oswald.”

She affectionately patted his cheek and he grinned. Finally, Fish turned her attention to Charlie.

„So, you're Charlie. You're shorter than I thought.”

„People always underestimate the ankle-biters. It never ends well.”

Fish only laughed in response, turned around and walked up to Bullock, who was watching her quietly, attentively and-

 _He's in love with her,_ she realized suddenly. _He looks at her the same way Esme looks at Misty, the same way I looked at Harry on our wedding photo. He's in love. He probably feels at peace now. He looks at her like she's a sunset, turning the sky into something even more beautiful._

„The worst woman in Gotham.” Oswald said quietly, putting his hand on Charlie's shoulder; she shuddered from the sudden touch of his cold fingers. „Or the best one. Depends on how you look at it.”

„She seems... Interesting.”

„Oh, I was hoping you'd say _nice_.” Fish replied, with her back turned to Charlie and Oswald. „I'll take it as a compliment, sweetheart.”

After the dinner – Maroni showed up late, no sign of his elusive tech guy – people started to leave, one by one. Esme and Misty wanted to give Charlie a ride home – but she politely refused, glancing at Oswald, who was playing with Bullock's pocket knife, while listening attentively to detective's tired rant. He was quickly moving the blade, flicking it with his long fingers and she wondered if it's a hint for the things to come.

(She hoped not; she liked her lingerie. She'd rather not have it cut to pieces, even by Oswald.)

„I'm not going home tonight.” she finally said, her attention back to the couple. „I have... Things to do.”

„And is any of the things you're going to do named Oswald by any chance?” Esme asked, her eyes glimmering playfully behind her elegant glasses.

Charlie rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, feeling – and looking – flustered.

„Who else knows?” she asked and Misty – who was checking her email on her phone – looked up, glanced at her wife and finally turned her attention to Charlie.

„Everyone.” she said shortly. „We all knew it's going to happen eventually. It's no big deal though, we're all adults here.”

„And... Sal..?”

„He doesn't care, as long as you don't rat Oswald out. Your sex life's your own... Which basically translates into „please don't give me any details, ever”. Deal?”

„I'm kinda curious though.” Esme admitted. „How does it happen between the two of you? How do you come if there's a man involved? You know. Those things.”

„I know you want to treat me as your token heterosexual friend, but please, Esme, I'm bi. We both are. And as for orgasms... We're getting _bi.”_

Esme and Misty both groaned and Charlie grinned with satisfaction.

Finally, she and Oswald were left alone, with Jacques holed up in his own guest room. She almost felt sorry for him – almost. Oswald's hand creeping up her thigh was very effective at keeping her mind away from Jacques and his problems.

„Jacques will hear us...” Charlie muttered, as he kissed her neck, his other hand searching for the zipper of her dress.

„Not if you'll keep quiet.” he said in response, tenderly brushing her arm with his lips. „Can you do that?”

„You know damn well I can't.” she said and gasped as his teeth found her neck. „See?”

„Whoops. My bad.” he said and even though she couldn't see his face she knew he's smirking in that infuriating way that always made her want to either punch or kiss him.

Her hands were free this time, free to roam his body and free to cover her mouth to muffle the sounds he was making her body sing.

She stayed the night, after they were done. As she was lying in his bed, her hair ruffled and her body relaxed he turned his head to look at her; and as they were both lying on their stomachs he reached out and – gently, softly, tenderly – stroked her face with his scarred hand and asked her to stay.

„Alright.” she muttered, feeling more and more sleepy. „I can do that. I'll be here when you wake up.”

For a brief moment, he looked like he wanted to say something – and maybe he did, but she didn't hear it. She dozed off as his eyes were on her face and his hand on her freckled cheek. It felt nice – to fall asleep feeling someone's tender touch. She could get used to it; again.

***

When she woke up the next day Oswald was still asleep next to her; it felt a lot like a deja vu, except this time there wasn't any blood smudged on his face.

He looked peaceful, even despite the scars. Seeing him like this – peaceful, vulnerable, quiet – made her feel something. Something she'd rather not feel. Something she remembered feeling, long time ago, in another life.

(His quiet, warm presence felt like home. His arms wrapped around her felt like home.)

As she was lying still, her thoughts a racing mess, horrifying realization slowly dawning upon her Oswald opened one eye and glanced at her sleepily.

„You're still here.” he stated and yawned, his eye closing again. „That's nice.”

„You wouldn't let me go.” she said jokingly and in response he sighed and untangled his limbs, letting her go.

„Can you make me a cup of coffee?” he muttered, his eyes still closed.

„Only if you say pretty please.”

„Don't use my own tools against me.” he muttered. „You might regret it.”

„Is that a promise?”

„It might be. But please. Coffee.”

She wrapped herself in a nearby blanket and went to kitchen, trying to not overthink anything. It was nothing, she was sure of it; all of it meant absolutely nothing.

Someone was in the kitchen, someone she hadn't seen before, someone tall, dark skinned and suspiciously energetic.

„Good morning!” the person said after seeing Charlie stand awkwardly just outside the kitchen. „Do you need something?”

„Uh... Coffee?” she said with uncertainty, trying to figure out who is she looking at. That person seemed friendly and harmless and their messy, messy hair and slightly scratched arms implied a fun night. „I'm sorry, but who are you?” she finally asked, as the person turned around in search of a clean mug.

„I'm Eddie. Eddie Nygma.” he said cheerfully and she cocked her head, wondering when did he sneak into Peperoncino. „And you, I assume, are Charlie. Is that coffee for Oswald?”

„Uh... Yeah. You're the tech guy, right?”

„Mmmhm. Is everything alright with your phone?”

„Yeah, it works fi- Wait, how did you know the coffee is for Oswald?”

„I know him pretty well.” he said cheerfully, handing her a cup of coffee. „There you go. Did you have a fun night?”

His eyes for a moment rested on her bare shoulders and a place where Oswald bit her a bit too hard last night.

„Did _you_ have a fun night?” she asked in return, staring at his own scratch marks.

They both shrugged and smiled; she then turned around and returned to Oswald.

„I just met Nygma.” she informed him as he was slowly waking up.

„Oh yeah?” he muttered sipping the black liquid. „He's alright.”

„Seems like I wasn't the only one being mistreated this night.” she said with a faint smile and he winked at her.

She left him shortly after – she needed some time to herself. She needed to collect herself and maybe figure out what was going on in her head.

Being with Oswald... Made her feel something. Something not entirely physical. She was content with just spending time with him, with just talking. She let her guard down for a moment, for a night; she let her guard down for a night and it made her feel something she didn't want to feel.

Charlie knew about Oswald far more than he knew about her. She knew his life story – and it seemed like he still hadn't find out about her story. She knew everything in excruciating detail; while he only knew she was, at some point, married.

(The fact he didn't seem to mind her social status as a rich heiress was still rubbing her the wrong way. It was the main reason she put her guard up in the first place; he hated the rich, and yet he seemed to crave her company. Maybe he craved her money. Maybe he wanted to seduce her into folly. But she wasn't going to let him to, not anytime soon.)

But his company still felt comforting. Like she could finally open up – which she never did. Everyone she met – except for Maroni, as she suspected he somehow knows the full story – only got bits and pieces. She was sure Louise is on her way to digging out the truth, now that Bullock and Rocco entered the picture; and she was damn sure at some point Oswald will get impatient and start digging as well.

But that problem could wait – she had more important matters to take care of, such as buying a house. She wanted something elegant, modern and relatively secluded; a place where she'd be able to hide from the outside world on a bad day, when the weight of her husband's body would feel like an iron ball chained to her ankle, dragging her down.

(She also wanted a place where Oswald would be able to visit her, to take her mind off her problems, to take her breath away. A place he wouldn't have to leave before the dawn.)

There was a house for sale few kilometers from the Wayne Manor – in Crest Hill, a prestigious suburb. It had three bedrooms, an enormous living room, three bathrooms, a library and the best-lit kitchen Charlie had ever seen; it looked nothing like her family home. It looked perfect.

The process of buying the home went smoothly, thanks to Maroni's subtle influence – in fact he offered he can simply buy it for her as a welcome gift, but she declined. She was sure it would somehow become public – and she really didn't want people to get any funny ideas about her and Salvatore Maroni. She preferred being his relatively mysterious, recently widowed friend for the time being.

(Being perceived as his lover could come in handy, just... Not yet.)

She was glad for his help though – she started to have weird problems focusing, some time after her night at Peperoncino. She simply couldn't focus on anything – her body wasn't letting her to. Her eyes were burning, she had troubles breathing and swallowing, her head felt like it's filled with cotton wool and her fingers felt like they're shivering, despite not moving – it was a weird feeling, happening somewhere deep beneath the surface.

„Are you alright?” Louise asked her one day, during brunch. „You look pale.”

It was Friday and Charlie was just finishing picking furniture for her new home. It turned out to be a lot more complicated than it seemed – since her casual arrangement with Oswald seemed to be fairly stable, she wanted to buy some pieces of furniture he'd deem suitable for their needs. And he turned out to be extremely picky.

„Oz is driving me insane.” she muttered back, furiously typing a reply to Oswald's text that was a long criticism of a bed frame.

 

_do you want me to just order a custom thing? i know a guy working for leathercave, you grump._

**Actually...**

_...no, oswald, that was a joke. forget it_

 

„Yeah, he does that.” Louise said, stirring her iced coffee. „Is everything alright between you two?”

„Why do you ask?”

„And why are you avoiding answering the question?”

Charlie sighed and rubbed her forehead with the back of her palm. She kept forgetting that Louise is – after all – a lawyer; she could be relentless. And was good at asking questions.

 _Was_ everything alright between her and Oswald? She didn't know; it's been a while since their last rendez-vous, but they kept in touch; and she often found herself thinking about him, about the way he looked just after waking up, the way he brushed her face with his hand, the way he laughed, the way waking up in his warm embrace felt like home. He was often on her mind and it was concerning.

„I think we're doing good.” she said finally, reaching for her iced tea. „As two separate people, that is. There is no _we_ to speak of.”

„Are you sure?” Louise asked, raising her eyebrow. „You know you don't have to lie to me. I'm not on Maroni's side, I'm on songbird's side.”

 _Songbird_ was another of many nicknames Louise was using when talking about Oswald Cobblepot in public places – she sometimes referred to him as Tommy, or beautiful idiot, or her cousin Chester.

„What are you getting at, Louise?”

„You two aren't dating, are you?”

Charlie laughed and shook her head at this ridiculous idea.

„It's not like that. We're friends with benefits – a series of one night stands, platonic strings attached. It's nothing deep, nothing romantic.” she assured Louise; it felt heavy on her tongue, like the most blatant lie – and it left her feeling like someone was choking her, squeezing her neck with strong, slender fingers.

And something in Louise's face, something in her eyes told her her friend isn't believing in anything she said.

***

Finally the grand day arrived – the day she was saying goodbye to her hotel apartment and hello to her new home, just outside Gotham. Her belongings she was keeping in a rented warehouse in NYC arrived few days ago – all her clothes and books and other things she collected over the years of her life devoid of any problems and doubts.

Harvey Bullock helped her unpack – other people offered their help as well, but she decided to settle on Harvey. He seemed capable and was making her feel at ease – he wasn't talkative and his presence was calming.

(He reminded her of her father, with his calm eyes, jokes both dry and jovial at the same time and welcoming, attentive demeanor. Also she figured this might be a good occasion to find out some stuff about Fish Mooney, who seemed to be extremely close with Oswald.)

„How's work?” she asked, as they were putting her old comics on a shelf.

„I'm helping out friendly ADA with making Gotham believe Penguin is long gone. It's harder than it sounds, because... He's an idiot.”

„Oh?”

„About three weeks ago we got a call from some worked up clerk who was doing some late night grocery shopping. He claimed to have seen Cobblepot on the street.”

„...right.” she said slowly, avoiding looking at Harvey's face. Three weeks ago Oswald visited her in the hotel. Her skin still tingled at the memory of ice cubes.

„This has to end, Charlie.” Harvey said suddenly, shaking his head and she looked at him in surprise. „I know he was there because of you, but this has to end. Months of work, almost... Almost gone. All because Cobblepot couldn't jerk off like a normal person.”

(She didn't have the right words to explain the true nature of their arrangement to Harvey Bullock. She didn't have the right words to explain who gets the most out of their evenings.)

„What do you want me to do?” she instead asked defensively. „It's not my fault.”

„If you're so hellbent on... Doing whatever the fuck you're doing with him, then have him move in with you.” Bullock said, sounding surprisingly nervous. „Maybe it'll work out for you two.”

It didn't sound like the worst possible idea, Charlie concluded; „having Oswald move in” did have a nice ring to it. To have him around when she wakes up and when she falls asleep, to not have to limit their time together.

„You know, Charlie, you and Oswald... You kinda remind me of me and Fish.”

Hearing this Charlie instantly furrowed her brows, wondering what the hell does he mean by this. It was not a secret Harvey and Fish were a thing – Oswald told her that the same evening she met them. They've been together for years now, and they met when Bullock was investigating Falcone's crime empire. Back then, Fish Mooney was a double agent of sorts – everybody knew her night club and everybody knew it's one of Falcone's shady business hubs. What people didn't know was the fact Fish was constantly feeding information to Maroni, who was Falcone's golf partner.

Bullock met her years ago, and they've been seeing each other regularly since then; they somehow made it work, despite one of them being a notorious criminal and the other one being a cop. One was a respected citizen, while the other one was... Less respected – but they managed to keep their thing going, to keep it hidden from the public eye.

„What do you mean by this?” Charlie asked anyway, despite knowing of all that and Harvey shot her an amused look.

„Acting dumb? Fine, your game, your rules. But the similarities are there, girl.”

He paused for a moment, looking for the right words.

„And there might be more of 'em than you suspect.” he finished, turned around and left the room to get another box, leaving her puzzled.

Once the boxes were unpacked – most of them, at least; she decided she's not going to make Bullock help her with her clothes – she was left alone, just her and her thoughts. She was tempted to message Oswald, to get him to come, to keep her company – the house was obviously bigger than her hotel apartment at The Peak and all this blank space was further amplifying the overwhelming sense of loneliness. She wished she had a pet.

(She never wanted one before everything went to shit.)

Her first night in her new home in Gotham was mostly sleepless, as her thoughts eventually drifted towards Harry, towards his eyes, his smile, the way they said „I do”, the way he was making her feel beautiful and loved, even on worst days. And yet when she was lying in her new bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about her – dead cold gone – husband all she wanted was not to hear his voice again or to be kissed by him again; no, all she wanted was for Oswald Cobblepot to be there.

***

It took her about a week to face the cold, hard truth – she was in love. And when the realization truly came, it didn't even come from her – it came from Louise and Misty and Harvey.

It all made sense, when they spelled it out for her. It all made sense – the way she felt around him, the way she felt when she woke up in his arms and looked at his face, the way she felt like his company might somehow fill the emptiness in her heart, this place where Harry used to be.

And Harry – despite being dead and gone and buried – was the biggest obstacle standing between her and admitting her feelings in the first place. What he did to her, what he made _her_ do, what they did to each other – it was unforgivable. Unforgettable. It was something she had to work through – and she had no idea how to start. She wasn't even sure if she _wants_ to work through it.

The perspective of sitting down with a shrink and telling them everything was too much to bear. It would probably be Jonathan Crane – who was, after all, a psychiatrist, and a damn good one – but she couldn't bear imagining his face after hearing how she one day grabbed an ice pick and drew it through Harry's neck, after making him beg for his life.

(Killing Harry felt... It was one of the things she didn't want to admit, one of those things she wanted to repress, to hide, to forget; it felt good. Vengeance felt good. His blood on her hands felt good – for a moment. Then it felt like nothing, like ash, like shame.)

She decided to pay her parents a visit, to maybe clean up their graves. She missed them – she missed her father's kind eyes and she missed her mother's warm hands. She missed how much they loved her – but the shame kept her from ever visiting, kept her away from New York.

She left Gotham one morning, when the city was still asleep. She locked her house and set up an alarm and left, like she already did once; but this time she didn't leave a message for anyone, even though this time there were people who might've been concerned about her house being empty, about her not being in her bed.

Her visit in NYC was short, as she only visited her parents. The graveyard where they were buried was mostly empty and quiet when she walked in; and her parents' grave was surprisingly clean and well-kept, as if someone was taking care of it during her absence.

(She felt a sting of remorse, of shame, of sadness. _Crispin Schiller-Aberdeen. Eleanor Schiller-Aberdeen née Moran._ It sounded so impersonal, like names of strangers, not people who raised her, who loved her, who died because of her.)

„Hi.” she said eventually, sitting on a small bench in front of their grave. „It's me. I'm... Sorry. I should have come sooner.”

The grave didn't respond, because after all, it was just a mass of stone, under which the corpses of her parents were hidden, lifeless, rotten, dead.

„I'm sorry.” she finally said, deciding to let it all out. „I am sorry... But it's your fault too, you know? It was my mistake and I never asked you to pay the price for it. I never asked you to take your own lives. It wasn't needed... But you did it anyway. You left me with my mistake. You left me... Alone.”

Her voice cracked and she paused for a moment, looking around to make sure no one's listening.

„But I'm fine now!” she said, her every word dripping with fake optimism. „I'm doing better. I... I got everything back. He paid the same price you did. And... I met someone. Oh, you'd absolutely hate him. Remember how you loved Harry? You'd hate Oswald. He has nothing to his name, nothing but old shame and spilled blood. I think I feel something for him... For his eyes and the way he makes me laugh and the way he makes me want to come back to Gotham. He makes me feel... Like I actually have something to come back to. Like I should try and start again.”

She paused again, trying to fight off the tears in her eyes, trying to stop herself from crying.

„And even if he doesn't feel the same, even if he's just another Harry, even if he's only after my money... At least I know I still remember how to love. I still know what love feels like. Maybe this one will leave me devastated – but I got tough. I can take another heartbreak. This one won't destroy me."

„Charlotte?” she heard a voice coming from behind her; she shivered slightly and turned around.

It was father Cassidy – her family's favorite priest, who was present during her baptism, during her wedding and during her parents's funeral. He looked older than she remembered him; more wrinkles and gray hair. But his eyes were exactly the way she remembered them – intelligent, filled with a compassionate spark, dark like a fertile soil.

„Hello, father.” she said, looking at his slightly agitated face. „Long time no see. Care to join me?”

„Where have you been, Charlotte?” he asked, sitting down next to her, firmly gripping his walking stick with trembling hands.

„Here and there, father. I was looking for something.”

„Did you find it?”

„Yes.” she said, returning her gaze to the silent grave. „I did.”

„Does it mean you're back? In New York?”

„No, father. I'm settling down in Gotham. Have you ever been to Gotham?”

„I have a family there. A brother and his wife and their four children.”

„Do you think it's a good place to start a family?”

„It's a place like any other. A place can't be good or bad. It depends on the people.”

„Well, do you think people in Gotham are good?”

„Nobody is fully and truly good or bad, Charlotte.” father Cassidy said, also looking at the grave. „Nobody is just one thing. We're all multifaceted.”

„Even Harry Spencer?”

She turned her head to look at Cassidy's somber profile.

„Was he multifaceted, father?” she repeated her question and father Cassidy sighed and shook his head.

„I can't give you the answer you want to hear, Charlotte. I am... Terribly sorry about what happened. To you, to your family... It was a tragedy.”

„Was this tragedy multifaceted, father?” she asked, her voice cracking again. „Was it not truly and fully bad?”

„I'm not going to argue with you, child. Neither of us can win.”

„No, you're not going to win. I know the truth.”

She got up from the bench, smoothed down her black coat and looked at father Cassidy – an old man who knew her since she was an infant and who wed her to Harry fucking Spencer – one last time, trying to see him as an anchor, as something leading her to her old life, something which might prompt her to abandon Gotham and Oswald and Maroni.

But she didn't see anything like this in father Cassidy; so she simply bid him farewell, turned around and walked away, leaving him on that small bench in front of her parents's final resting place.

She was back in Gotham two days later and her phone was blowing up. People had been worried sick – Bullock almost organized an official search party. People she left behind expected the worst – and their relief when she came back was something she couldn't fully comprehend. She couldn't tell if it's genuine. She hoped it's genuine.

Oswald showed up on her doorstep after she returned. He didn't text, he didn't call; she just heard the doorbell ring and there he was, towering over her, his hands crossed on his chest, look of pure determination on his face.

„Allo.” he said to her, staring her down, along with her bathrobe and her pajamas. „Can I come in?”

„What do you want, Oswald?” she asked, closing the door behind him.

„You.” he said simply and her heart skipped a beat.

She was thinking about him that afternoon. Slowly, carefully she considered her feelings. She put them all together and took a long and good look at them and finally put a label on them – and the label said „love”. She was in love and she was damn sure it's one sided and is going to end with a heartbreak. She was sure there are no real feelings coming from his side – he was only after the money. He was only after the freedom her money could get him. He was a master manipulator and he was manipulating her by singing her body electric, by giving her what she wanted.

She decided to not give in to his manipulations. She knew she can take another heartbreak – but she didn't want to endure it so quickly, so soon after burying her husband, her first love.

They didn't look at each other that night; she absentmindedly wondered who is Oswald thinking about when her lips are on him, if there's someone who truly matters to him, if there's someone making his heart skip a beat. She wondered if there's a special someone, serving as an inspiration for him constantly giving her everything she wanted – attention, sex, a fragile sense of safety.

She wondered.

***

Being in love didn't feel good. It felt stifling, suffocating; like still air on a hot day just before the storm. It felt dangerous – she's been in love once and it didn't end well. It felt like a trap. Like a recipe for another disaster.

(His arms felt like home. His fingers on her face felt like home.)

She tried to escape this ridiculous, humid stiffness, this choking feeling in her throat. She tried to escape it by drowning herself in cold water.

Well, not literally. She wasn't trying to commit suicide, she was simply taking a lot of cold baths. One too many it seems, considering one morning she woke up with a headache and a cold.

(She dreamt about Oswald a lot ever since her return from the New York, ever since he showed up on her doorstep with that awful Cockney rolling out of his mouth, with that oddly determined look on his face. She dreamt about him a lot since realizing she actually, genuinely loves him; almost as if it unlocked some secret part of her brain, called „dreams to make you sad”. She'd often wake up with her face pressed into a pillow.)

„Fuck.” she muttered to herself, feeling weak. „That's just great.”

It's been about two weeks since her last night with Oswald. She started to actively avoid him – pleasure wasn't worth the pain of trying to figure out who's really in his heart.

Also, she was sure she might crack and say something she'd regret. He was good at making her crack. She didn't want to know how he'd react if one day she said she loves him.

She mostly spent those two weeks tightening her bonds with other people. She went to another party with Salvatore and spent the evening gossiping with Louise. She helped Esme and Misty hide their anniversary gifts from each other. She went to one of Crane's lectures. She even tried to befriend Jacques, but it was difficult; it was difficult to be at Peperoncino and to not head upstairs, to spend the day in a certain criminal's company.

(He was often on her mind, way too fucking often. It was maddening.)

It didn't mean she was ignoring him; she'd reply to his texts. She'd pick up the phone on those rare occasions when he decided to call; but her replies would be short and the conversations would be as concise as humanly possible.

And not even once he asked her what is going on, if they're done, if he maybe did something. Not even once.

(It hurt more than she wanted to admit.)

So, one day – after a long streak of ice cold baths – she woke up sick. She had the third worst headache of her life, she was coughing her lungs out and her whole body felt hot and cold at the same time. She felt like she's dying – she was also out of cold medicine and was definitely not in the right shape to go out and get some; so she called Crane, who was – after all – a doctor. Sure, he was a psychiatrist, but it was no secret he's capable and experienced in other areas of human health as well. He did patch Oswald up after his last run-down with the Batman – and he did it beautifully. If she didn't know, she wouldn't have guessed.

„Gosh, I'm so sorry!” Crane said in the most apologetic way possible, after she described her symptoms through the phone. „I have my hands full today... But I can send someone else to take care of you.”

„As long as they're competent, doc.”

„Oh, I assure you, they're incredibly competent. Please take care.”

„Thanks, doc. You too.”

About an hour later her doorbell rang and she dragged herself to the front door, shivering and sniffling, doing her best to stand straight.

She wasn't sure who was she expecting, but it sure as hell wasn't Oswald.

„Top of the morning to you, beautiful stranger!” he said, shooting her a quick grin. „Even though it's afternoon.”

„You can't be here.” she muttered in response, avoiding looking at his face. „I'm expecting someone.”

„Yes. Me. Crane called me.”

„He promised me someone competent.” Charlie fired back without thinking.

„I'm very competent when it comes to taking care of you. I thought we already established that.” he said, seemingly completely unconcerned.

She sighed, turned around and shuffled off, returning to her living room; Oswald followed.

„Did you steal someone's car again?” she asked, wrapping herself in her biggest blanket.

„No, I borrowed it. And this time... I asked.”

„And did Jacques agree?”

„Of course he didn't.”

„You were this close to losing your bad boy charm, you know.” she muttered, closing her eyes, trying to focus. „So. What now?”

„Now I'm going to treat you to the best damn cold medicine in history. Also I'm going to stick around for a while. To... Make sure you're alright.”

What was that in his voice? Concern? Uncertainty? She didn't know and she didn't care.

„What are you going to put in me?” she asked instead and he snickered in response.

„Not myself, I'm afraid.” he said and she groaned. She'd hit him with a pillow, if she wasn't so weak. „It's a polish thing. Ever been to Poland?”

„Didn't have the pleasure.”

„Me neither. But there's a lot of Poles where I grew up. They took me in. Apparently by polish standards I'm an absolute delight.”

( _Not just by their standards,_ she almost said, but bit her tongue and only groaned instead.)

„I need to use your stove first.”

„Kitchen's behind us.” she muttered, her eyes still closed. „What else do you need?”

„A pot. And a glass. I think I'll manage. You just... Stay here. Try to not die.”

He returned a few minutes later, with a tiny glass filled with a suspiciously smelling liquid. The smell was strong enough to get through her stuffy nose; but she couldn't for the life of her figure out what might actually be in there.

„What am I about to drink?” she asked cautiously, glaring at the steam rising from the surface. „If I die I'm going to haunt you, you know.”

„I'll get an Ouija board just to talk with you.” he promised nonchalantly. „But this isn't going to kill you, I promise.”

The substance did taste like something that might kill her; but she somehow drank it all. Her throat was burning and the weird, intense flavor almost instantly brought tears to her eyes.

„Vodka, honey and some cloves.” Oswald announced cheerfully, as she struggled to swallow the last gulp. „Works every time!”

„You fucking monster.” she whimpered, her throat on fire. „I'm going to die!”

He only laughed in response, sank onto her couch and put his feet up on her coffee table.

(He looked relaxed. He looked peaceful. He looked beautiful. Even sick and miserable she wanted to kiss him; but she knew he wouldn't give in. She felt disgusting, all sweat and stickiness. Also she hadn't brushed her teeth that day.)

They talked – mostly about nothing. About other people. He told her some stories about Fish and Bullock and their initial struggles and about how Misty used to be in relationship with Crane and about how Nygma apparently somehow gets along with literally everyone.

Eventually he offhandedly mentioned Lady Arkham – and the way he spoke her name, the sudden weird glimmer in his eyes... Suddenly everything made sense.

 _Oh,_ Charlie thought, not quite listening. _Well then. Silly, silly me._

Of course it was all about her. They almost destroyed the city together. They almost brought Batman down together. He was her second in command and she was the devil on his shoulder. Of course it was all about her; it was all about her and what they shared and what they almost accomplished together.

(One more time Charlie pondered how weird it is to sit on a couch with a wanted criminal and chat about his failed plans. Oswald had a lot of blood on his hands, a lot of pent up anger inside of him, and now there it was – her proof she ultimately means nothing to him. Of course.)

„Do you miss her?” she asked, her masochistic side taking the better of her.

Oswald sighed and nodded.

„Every day.” he confessed. „She was a little shit, and an even worse person than me, but... She understood. And that's more than can be said about almost everyone in this bloody city.”

„What do you think happened to her?”

Why in hell was she dwelling on that subject? Did she really want to put some more salt on her open wound?

„Heavens know.” Oswald said, his voice almost cracking. „Part of me hopes she's alive, but... She's most likely not. She's probably buried in Arkham. Ironic, innit?”

„Mostly just sad. Were her parents really... You know?”

„Oh, absolutely. But do you want to know the worst part?”

„Try me.”

„Sometimes I'd wish we could switch places.” he said quietly, in a strange, solemn tone of voice. „Sometimes... Sometimes I'd think this is still better than what I had. Still better than... Nothing.”

Her heart felt heavy in her chest and she looked away. Right.

That was part of a reason she didn't really tell him anything about her life before Gotham – when she lost everything, she was old enough to manage. To work through it.

(Or maybe she was just damn good at repressing it.)

What happened to Oswald, to his family – it happened when he was a kid. And he never got any closure; he tried and it didn't end well.

She felt more sorry for him than she probably should. That man sitting right next to her; he was still a remorseless criminal. Some people called him a monster. She was sure there is at least one mother in Gotham who uses Oswald as a boogeyman – and for a good reason.

And yet, all she felt was positive.

(Part of her was attracted to what he did. She could hear father Cassidy's words in her head, crystal clear; no one is truly and fully good or bad. People are multifaceted. Maybe the evil in him was attracting the evil in her. Maybe it was her own naivete she never really outgrew.)

She hesitantly put a hand on his shoulder; he sighed, closed his eyes and covered her hand with his own, pleasantly warm.

„World's a fucked up place.” she said eventually. „And what happened to you, what the Waynes did... You didn't deserve any of it.”

„I kept telling myself that ever since I found out what really happened.” he muttered in response, his eyes still closed. „And look at me now.”

There was a lot of things she wanted to tell him.

_I wouldn't have you any other way._

_I still love you._

_There's still some good left in you. Not a lot of it, but still._

_I wish we met before the world destroyed us._

_I wish we've met before they convinced you life is war._

„I can think of worse things to look at.” she said instead and he smiled faintly.

„How are you feeling?” he asked. „Better?”

„Yeah, I think this... Thing actually helped. A bit.”

„Then I guess one more glass should do the trick. And then you should get some sleep.”

„And a bath.”

„Can you even walk straight?”

„...maybe.”

„Well, I can help. And I promise... I'll be good.”

He smirked at her and she shook her head in disapproval.

(She was glad for his offer though. She was feeling exhausted; and the alcohol didn't help with her sense of balance.)

It felt a bit weird – it was the first time his hands on her naked body didn't mean fun. He was gentle and it felt so, so relaxing; a welcome change.

It didn't stop her body from reacting to his hands though – with her hair still wet, she put his hand on her breast.

„Oh, doctor.” she said, half jokingly. „I want you.”

He let out a quiet laugh and took his hand away, shaking his head.

„This isn't covered by your insurance. Now come on. Get up.”

Once she was mostly dry and in her warmest pajamas, he actually carried her to her bedroom – she insisted she can walk, he insisted she shouldn't.

(He won. Of course he did – he was stronger. Plus she enjoyed the feeling; his arms felt safe. His arms felt like home.)

Finally, he forced her to drink one more glass of his hellish slavic concoction – it still tasted and burned like hell, but she knew he's relentless.

(The thought of prolonging this odd episode of caring was tempting and she almost simulated a hissy fit.)

„Now, try to get some sleep. You'll feel better once you wake up.”

„Will you be here when I wake up?” she muttered, her eyelids heavy like her heart.

„It can be arranged, love.” he said softly. „I'm free like a bird.”

(She fell asleep thinking about his anecdote about how he and Vicki Vale once put on a show, shortly before he shot Hamilton Hill; she had to act like a terrified civilian and he had to act like she's not his boss. He called her _love_ in the most menacing, derogatory way possible; and everybody ate it up. She wondered if he sometimes called her that in a way meant for this word.)

He wasn't there when she woke up. Sure, she woke up feeling ten times better, her cold completely gone – but it would feel so _nice_ to wake up with him somewhere nearby.

Instead, he left a note. She smiled faintly at this sight – naturally. It was his turn to sneak out.

The note was an apology; he said something unexpected had turned out, that he was needed elsewhere.

„Well fuck, I need you as well.” she muttered, putting the note in the drawer of her nightstand.

(Did she _need_ him? Or did she simply _want_ him? She couldn't tell the difference anymore.)

***

She had plans for the next day - Fish Mooney was finally reopening her night club and was hosting an exclusive, invitation-only party to celebrate it. Only her friends and actual VIPs received elegant invitations to Waterfront's launch night – and Charlie was actually more than a bit surprised when she received hers.

She only met Fish a few times; and sure, she liked that woman. She was dominant, elegant, direct. She knew what she wants and how to get it and Charlie caught herself pondering on how it feels to be the object of Fish's desire more than once. But still, they only met a few times and never really talked about anything important – and yet there it was.

„Should I be worried?” she asked Misty during a phone call.

„About what?”

„About Fish. Wanna hear my paranoia talk?”

„Oh god, I think I know where this is going...” Misty sighed and Charlie could hear a faint knocking in the background. „Shit. Gotta go, my assistant brought me documents I asked for.”

„You have an assistant?!”

„Yeah, what's so shocking about it?”

„I never heard about a journalist with an assistant.”

„Well, I'm one of a kind.” Misty said nonchalantly. „I wrote the best articles on Cobblepot, I can do whatever I want. Plus, Theo really needed a job and I really have to go. But don't worry about Fish. She's... Well, not exactly harmless. But she's on our side. Yes, Theo, come in!”

Misty ended the call and Charlie was left with her doubts. They came seemingly out of nowhere – absolutely nothing was suggesting Fish wants her on her side to use her deep pockets to get away from Maroni and build her own empire. Hell, if that was the case Charlie would gladly help if only Fish asked outright – but the minimal probability of being used again was enough of a spark to ignite the flames of her paranoia.

She locked it away – for now; same way she did with her doubts and fears related to Oswald. The best way to solve a problem was to ignore it.

(Now she understood why her sudden breakdown the other way was so intense. In hindsight, it all made sense, every little thing.)

She had a dress to pick. Her doubts could wait.

***

The Waterfront was hidden even better than Peperoncino – it was, after all, an exclusive place. It used to be one of Falcone's crown jewels; after his death and hastily cutting all ties with him Fish could in theory make it more open to general public, but she decided on keeping the exclusive tag on.

Louise was waiting for her near the entrance and she didn't look happy.

„Fucking Wayne is here.” Lou said to her before Charlie even had the time to say _hi._ „I want to die.”

„And good evening to you as well.” Charlie replied and winked at her and Louise shrugged angrily. „Oh come on, cheer up. It's not like you absolutely have to talk to him.”

„No, but you do. He's interested in you.”

„What?!”

„Oh, for fuck's... Don't act so shocked. It's a well known fact he's a bachelor and you're a rich, attractive, young woman who recently moved here. Of course he's interested.”

„I don't like the sound of it.” Charlie stated firmly. „And I don't like him.”

„You barely know him. I mean, I know why _I_ hate him, but you... Talked to him once.”

„Yeah, well, maybe I got some of this disdain from your cousin. Can I ask you something?”

„Shoot.”

„Why are you calling him Chester?”

Louise smirked.

„Well, the short answer is... His middle name is Chesterfield. Yes. I know. His parents named him like this.”

(Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot. What a mouthful!

Suddenly she remembered their first conversation; she asked him if there's a shorter version of his name and he called himself a mouthful. And yet – for some reason – she couldn't bear herself to call him _Oz_ again.

Also she wondered if he considers her a hypocrite for calling his name „a mouthful”, all while being named Charlotte Beatrice Elizabeth Schiller-Aberdeen.)

The place was crowded – apparently Fish's list of friends and VIPs was very long. She was surprised to see Bullock in the crowd – he looked almost comfortable, wearing a suit instead of his usual tired coat. He shaved.

„Did he frock up just for her?”

„She has him wrapped around her finger. I'm pretty sure he'd take a bullet for her.” Louise replied, without even looking in Bullock's general direction. „Oh, I found our girls.”

Misty and Esme found them a booth in the corner of the room, with a good view on everyone. Soon after Charlie and Louise sat down Fish approached them; she was wearing a crimson dress and Charlie found herself a bit lost in the crevice between her breasts.

(And judging from expressions on her companions faces, she wasn't the only one.)

„I'm glad you all made it.” Fish then said, her eyes focused on Charlie. „Especially you. How's Gotham treating you?”

„I've got nothing to complain about... For now.”

„Oh, trust me, you will find something.” Fish said with a knowing smile. „Or someone.”

„Maybe I already found someone to complain about.” she said without thinking.

„And who might it be?”

(Louise who was texting someone under the table paused her typing for a moment; out of the corner of her eye, Charlie saw her becoming oddly tense.)

„I'd rather keep it to myself for now.”

When Fish left – followed by Harvey, who seemed both desperate for her attention and like he'd rather die than say it out loud – after a brief period of silence, the girls loosened up and started talking, politely ignoring everything Charlie just said.

(She felt like this is going to bite her in the ass, sooner or later. Probably sooner.)

It was a pleasant night – eventually Harvey joined them for some time, as he felt the urge to lovingly complain about Fish to someone.

(Apparently she was driving him mad, but the spark in his eyes was saying something completely different.)

She somehow managed to avoid Bruce Wayne altogether that night – he was there, she saw him and he courteously nodded in her direction, but didn't approach; she sensed it might be because of her company. She knew Louise is shooting him menacing looks and she was glad.

(Even though she was kind of curious. Bruce and Oz – Oswald – grew up together and for years he knew her criminal heart-throb better than anyone else. What kind of person Cobblepot used to be before Thomas robbed him of his innocence? But there was no good way to ask this question; she couldn't just walk up to Bruce Wayne and ask him about him childhood friend, who might or might not be the source of her emotional anguish.)

„You're staring at Wayne.” Esme asked her eventually, glancing at her. „Why?”

„I'm wondering how to ask him about Oswald.” she replied, taking her eyes off Wayne's back. „They grew up together.”

„Well, Wayne does live for attention, so I'd say... Just pat him on a shoulder and be blunt.”

„Why are you suddenly interested in Oswald's childhood?” Misty asked, before Charlie could say anything. „You can just ask him, you know.”

„I'm interested in an outside perspective.”

„Well, Wayne did do an interview or two about his friendship with Oswald... I can dig them out for you.”

„Or maybe let's let her talk to him.” Esme suddenly said with a pensive expression on her face. „We could use someone who knows what's up in his life.”

„Treating me like a pawn, Midnight?” Charlie asked jokingly, shaking her head.

„Not a pawn. An asset. Knowing what is Wayne up to might be vital in our little... Enterprise.”

„Isn't Salvatore friends with him already though?”

„Sal is friends with everyone, meaning he's friends with virtually no one. No, we need a personal touch here... And here's where you enter the picture.”

„Alright, I'm in.” Charlie said, against her better judgement. „What do you want me to do?”

„We can start with a conversation... Without Louise behind your back, trying to turn him into stone.” Esme finished with a wink and Louise nonchalantly flipped her off.

„Oh, and be somewhere near. I need a picture.” Misty added with a grin. „It'll be a beautiful article.”

„Better don't make it front page though. I don't want to spend rest of my life in a public spotlight.”

„Your dirty little secrets are safe with us.” Misty assured her and Charlie furrowed her brows.

„Secrets? I don't have any secrets... Well, I have one.”

„Don't act dumb.” the journalist pressed on; judging by her eyes, she was slightly tipsy. „We ran a very thorough background check on you when Sal said he's interested. We know what happened in Perth.”

„Well done, Haze.” Louise said calmly, setting her glass down. „That was that one thing we agreed to not talk about.”

For some reason, the realization her secret was no longer a secret didn't make her feel anything. The other shoe had dropped; the truth was uncovered.

But it didn't bother her. After the initial shock had passed, she realized she's actually feeling... Glad. Like a great weight was lifted off her shoulders.

„Who else knows?” she simply asked. „And what... Exactly do you know?”

„We know your husband stole your fortune after the wedding.” Esme said hesitantly. „We know your parents... Are gone because of it. We also know you spent a long time trying to get everything back. We don't know exactly what happened between losing it and getting it back – you covered your tracks well – but we got the police reports. We know there was an... Accident when you finally tracked Harry down.”

(harry staring at her in shock pure fear in his eyes he was on his knees and he begged her forgiveness and she only shook her head and drove the cold sharp metal through his neck his blood on her hands his short scream ringing in her ears her love dead)

„There was no accident.” she finally admitted, for the first time. „I killed him. In cold blood.”

„Well.” Esme said after a long pause. „Now I kind of feel bad for asking you to be our mole in Wayne's life.”

„You are not using me though. You asked. I just... I'd rather avoid being _used_ ever again, you know? Didn't feel great.”

(For a moment, her mind wandered off. For a moment, she thought about Oswald, about his failed attempt at getting his fortune back, about every time he offhandedly mentioned being determined to eventually get back what's his. About him being a great manipulator.)

„I'll be right back.” she said, getting up. „Time to befriend Bruce Wayne. How do I look?”

„Bomb.” Louise said, without looking up from her phone. „Do give him my regards.”

„Won't do.”

She approached Bruce Wayne, who looked bored. He was doing something on his phone; he briefly looked up and turned it off as soon as he recognized her.

„Miss Schiller-Aberdeen! Always a pleasure.” he said, smiling in the most blandly pleasant way possible.

(„Always a pleasure” Oswald once said as she entered the room where he was trying to choose between two nearly identical ties.)

„I figured it might be a good occasion to get to know the face of Gotham.” she said with a smile, wondering if Misty is already taking photos. „Last time we didn't have time to chat.”

„Last time you had some truly... Intimidating company.” he said with a nervous chuckle.

„You and Louise... You don't see eye to eye, do you?”

„We don't.” he admitted. „But it's an old thing. We don't have to like each other personally to appreciate our efforts in making Gotham better.”

She shot him another smile and the conversation – somehow – went on.

She didn't ask him about Oswald Cobblepot, his childhood friend who then beaten him to the pulp on live tv; it was a polite conversation about nothing and everything. She asked him about his butler. He asked her about her plans. She asked if he ever thought about running for mayor.

„Goodness, no!” he said, shaking his head and laughing. „Maybe I thought about it once or twice, but after what happened to our previous two mayors... I don't think it's a good idea. Penguin's still at large, after all.”

(Her neck suddenly itched in a place where Oswald once left her a bite mark she had to cover up with makeup.)

 _He doesn't sound like a bad person,_ she decided, watching him. He didn't sound like a bad person, and he wasn't to blame for what his father did – but she understood what Oswald felt.

(Something in Bruce Wayne reminded her of Harry Spencer.)

He eventually had to leave; but before doing so he asked if she can perhaps give him her phone number as he'd love to get to know her a little better, to chat away from prying eyes.

Smiling lightly and giving the prying eyes and viewfinders everything they wanted she wrote her number down on a paper napkin, turned around and returned to where her friends were sitting.

„Any good shots?” she asked visibly more sober Misty, who nodded.

„The gossip column will love me for what I'm about to send them. You don't mind them publishing your name, do you?”

„No, they can publish it, as long as they don't imply me and Wayne fucked.”

Louise's phone was buzzing constantly, informing her of a constant influx of new texts.

„Aren't you going to at least read them?” Charlie asked and Lou shook her head with indifference.

„Nah.”

Her own phone buzzed and she glanced at a screen; Oswald. Of course.

 

**Busy?**

 

_kind of. fish says hi_

 

**Can I see you later?**

 

She closed her eyes for a moment. Did _he_ know? Was he the one running her background check? Was it all a part of his giant manipulative plan?

„Hooking up with our boy?” Esme asked, shooting her a devilish grin and her wife groaned.

„He's been acting really weird lately, you know.” Misty eventually said. „I think something's eating him.”

(Or maybe it was a lack of certain someone. Maybe it was simply the necessity of using a replacement that was eating him.)

„Maybe he's just tired of Peperoncino.” she said instead, texting him back, saying to meet her at her place in a few hours. „He's kind of... Caged there.”

„Well, for him it's either Peperoncino or Blackgate.” Louise said, finishing her drink. „And I'd choose Peperoncino as well. Nygma's ginger boyfriend has a Netflix subscription.”

Just as she was getting ready to leave, Harvey Bullock appeared by their booth.

„Charlie? A word?” he asked and he seemed and sounded incredibly tense; she wondered if maybe he was in charge of getting all the dirty details of her past.

„I'm sorry, Harvey, but I have a date.” she said, shaking her head with genuine remorse. „Can we talk tomorrow?”

„Yeah, I suppose it can wait a bit...” he sighed, scratching his head. „Wait. Did you say date?”

„Chill out, old man, it's just... Our friend.” Esme said mockingly, patting him lightly on the shoulder.

„That's true.” Charlie added, slipping her phone into her purse. „So don't worry. I promise I'll be home by ten.” she added with a smile; it was midnight.

Bullock scoffed, shook his head and left; turned around he really looked like her father.

Oswald was already there when she got home.

„Are you mad?!” she asked him, frantically looking for keys in her purse. „Someone will see you!”

„It's middle of the night and your nearest neigbour would have to use a spyglass to see anything in your garden.” he calmly pointed out, still leaning against her front door, his arms crossed. „I have an idea.”

„Yeah?”

„Give me a set of keys, so next time I won't have to wait outside.” he said with a grin and she fought off the urge to hit him with her purse.

„Step aside.” she said instead. „I found my keys.”

„Or maybe remind me to start carrying my lockpicks with me.” he went on as she opened the door, turned the lights on and stepped inside. „I love breaking and entering. I could visit you unexpected, you know.” he added, lowering his voice seductively. „How would you like this? A thief, not after your wallet, but after your sleep...”

„Are you done?” she asked, taking her heels off and wincing slightly at the sensation of cold wood under her feet.

„Oh I'm never done.” he assured her. „Also, you look beautiful tonight.”

„Flatterer.” she muttered, still turned around, hiding the sudden redness on her cheeks.

She went to the kitchen and he followed.

„Are you feeling better?” he asked, as she was pouring herself a glass of juice which he then took without even asking.

„I know, I know.” he said and winked. „The list. I remember.”

„I'm much better, thanks.” she asked, giving up. „Whatever you gave me actually helped.”

„See? Told you I'm competent.” he said with a smug grin. „How was your night?”

„Is this why you're here?” she asked, sitting on the table, as he leaned against her fridge. „You could've just called me.”

„Oh, but I told you already. Having you in person... Is much better.”

_Months of work, almost... Almost gone. All because Cobblepot couldn't jerk off like a normal person._

(She saw pictures of Vicki Vale and she could see certain similarities between herself and the journalist turned tragic villain. The general softness of features, eye shapes, noses; it wasn't much, but it was there. And maybe it was just enough.)

When he came closer and leaned in to steal a kiss from her, she closed her eyes and gave in, deciding to give him what he needs – for once. She decided she's fine with being a replacement, a proxy, a substitute if it means being anything at all.

She did shed a tear or two that time – but he didn't notice, or maybe he didn't care. She let him do whatever he wanted, to not see her as herself; with his hand between his thighs and his lips on her breast she'd let him do anything.

(She didn't crack. She didn't tell him she loves him. She only pulled his hair and scratched his skin and kissed his jawline.)

She pretended to be falling asleep as he was dressing up and leaving, planting a goodbye kiss on her shoulder. Only after she heard the front door closing she finally let herself cry.

***

Next few days were relatively unpleasant.

She never found out what Harvey wanted to talk about the other night, at the Waterfront – first he wasn't picking up his phone, and then, when she finally got him, he said it's not important and that it resolved itself. He did a piss poor job at calming her down about that mysterious matter, but fine – his game, his rules.

Gotham Gazette gossip column did publish a – slightly blurry – photo of her writing down her number for Bruce Wayne. They namedropped her, and alluded she might soon be seen somewhere around the Wayne Manor; seemingly the person responsible for that one wasn't aware she's practically Bruce's neighbor.

(They talked about it over brunch once; a casual, absolutely non-committal thing; he laughed it off and said this is probably the eleventh time Gotham Gazette alone appointed some unfortunate young woman a future mrs Wayne. The way he said it made her think there probably already is someone he actually sees in this role – someone who doesn't want it.

 _Is Gotham filled with people looking for replacements for people they care about? Is this what this city is about? Replacements and sadness?_ )

Oswald probably had seen the tidbit as well – but he never mentioned it. In fact, their encounter after her night at the Waterfront was the last time she saw or heard him before everything went to hell and back.

After first few days of no contact, she decided maybe it's for the best – maybe he grew bored of her. Maybe he decided she's not worth the hassle.

For a short while, she considered following into his footsteps and finding herself a suitable replacement; but ultimately ended up abandoning the idea. She didn't feel like inviting anyone new into her life, into her bed, into her body; plus there was no one like Oswald Cobblepot, who seemed to instinctively know just how to play her body to make it sing the loveliest songs.

One morning Louise called her, to ask if she'd be up for getting some drinks with her and Fish. She agreed – it's not like she had any plans at all.

(She wondered how and when exactly Louise – a relatively well known attorney – became friends with Fish Mooney, a crook with some ties to mafia and obvious fondness for Gotham's most wanted criminal.)

They met at the Waterfront, which was flourishing, as Fish proudly announced, leading them to their table.

„People had missed this place, it turns out. Now they'd do anything to get in... Meaning it's probably time to invest in a slightly better bartender. Do you think Jacques would be up for this gig?”

„It seems like he'd rather die than abandon Peperoncino.” Charlie replied, sitting down. „And I don't think he can be in two places at the same time.”

„Oh, but maybe a change of surroundings would lift his spirits a bit.” Fish said jauntily. „He's perpetually in a bad mood, thanks to our mutual friend.”

Silence fell. Fish glanced on Louise, who avoided her eyes. Fish cleared her throat. Louise didn't react.

„What?” Charlie asked finally, feeling uneasy. „What?”

„For the record...” Louise muttered, nervously playing with her hair. „It was... Not my idea.”

„What?!” Charlie repeated her question. „What is going on?”

„We want to talk about you and Oswald.” Fish said finally, giving up on trying to get Louise to start the conversation.

„There is nothing to talk about.” Charlie protested faintly. „Really.”

„Is that so?” Fish asked, raising her eyebrows skeptically.

Her piercing gaze touched her skin and something in her cracked.

„Fine. I have feelings for him.” she admitted angrily.

„What feelings?” Fish asked, relentlessly pursuing the topic. „ _Feelings_ is an umbrella term. I have a lot of feelings for the Ventriloquist and none of them good. I also have a lot of feelings for detective Bullock – most of them good.”

„I think I love him.” she said slowly, her thoughts a racing mess. „Alright? I think I love him. He makes me want to stay. When I was visiting New York recently, I... I met someone who knew me damn well. Someone who encompassed all that I used to be. An embodiment of a second chance waiting for me in New York. And... I'm here. You know why.”

Fish and Louise remained silent, so she only sighed and went on.

„I know he's... Terrible. I know. I'm not blind. He's a murderer and a thief and a con-artist and god knows what else, but I think... We're just compatible. I feel safe around him. I feel like... Fuck, I don't know. But I know it's one sided.” she said with a forced, nonchalant shrug. Louise furrowed her brows.

„What?”

„It's one sided. I know it. I think... I think he's either after my money – I'm rich enough to get him away from Maroni and Peperoncino and buy him a new life – or uses me as a... Replacement. I think he and Vicki Vale... I think they had a thing.”

Fish Mooney turned her head and covered her mouth, visibly trying to hide laughter building up inside of her. Louise covered her face with her hands and sighed deeply.

„You dense motherfucker.” Louise said finally, her voice muffled by her skin. „Fish, where do I start?”

„Let's start with Vicki.” Fish replied, still avoiding looking at them, her shoulders trembling slightly.

„Vicki Vale is a lesbian.” Louise said finally, moving her hands away from her face and sternly staring at confused Charlie. „I would know. We used to date, before... Before all that bullshit happened. Vicki Vale is a stone cold lesbian and would never have anything going on with Oswald. Which brings us to-”

„Have you noticed how quiet he is recently?” Fish interrupted Louise, calm and collected once again. „No texts, no calls, dead silence... Have you noticed?”

„Of course I noticed.” Charlie said slowly. „I was sure he... Got bored. Had something better to do.”

„He tried to rob a bank.” Louise said shortly and Charlie's heart skipped a beat; hell, several beats. „We got to him before anyone noticed him, and we've been keeping an eye on him ever since.”

„What do you mean he tried to rob a bank?!”

„Well, he figured out he knows why you got so distant all of sudden and was determined to prove you that he's not like your dead husband.” Louise said quietly. „Of course he knew about Harry. He found out on accident and after everyone else – but he did. He knew for quite some time.”

„What are you trying to say?” Charlie asked, feeling like she's about to pass out.

„You really can't figure it out, can you?” Fish asked with genuine curiosity and Louise laughed quietly.

„God, she's so blind. I almost don't want to tell her.”

„Please stop fucking with me, I'm about to have a heart attack!”

„He's in love with you, you idiot!” Louise finally blurted out. „Ever since he met you in Peperoncino before the storm. Do you even remember?”

„Of course I remember.” she muttered, wondering if this is what heart attack feels like. „I was looking for someone and I somehow ended up there... And then he showed up.”

(She thought about their night together many times during following weeks. The way he asked her if she's alright, the way he looked at her, the way she almost felt bad for sneaking out in the morning.)

„He told me about it.” Louise continued. „Well, he did skip the spicy details, but what matters is that... You sneaked out of that bedroom with his heart in your pocket – but he only noticed it's missing when he found out you're back.”

„That's so fucking pretentious.” Fish muttered, looking to the side. „Are you quoting him right now?”

„Of course I am. Don't ruin the mood.”

„What do you mean _he's in love with me?_ ” Charlie finally asked, her brain playing the words on repeat. „What... What do you mean?”

„Charlie, can I ask you a question?” Louise asked in response and Charlie slowly nodded, still not fully comprehending what was going on.

„You were... Married. How the _fuck_ did you not notice Oswald being in love?”

„I just assumed he's manipulating me!”

„This is the saddest thing I've heard this month.” Fish said, her face expressing pure joy.

„He's not manipulating you, you ginger idiot, for once in his life he was being honest!” Louise lashed out, waving her hands frantically. „You two truly are a match made in heaven, for fuck's sake.”

„Can I see him?” Charlie asked finally, wondering if this is all a very strange dream. „I think... I think I should talk to him.”

„We can deliver him straight to your doorstep to give you two some privacy.” Louise said, calming down again. „And for all I care, we can leave him there. I don't want to see or hear him ever again. He's been insufferable.”

Her insides were burning and she had troubles swallowing and breathing. She couldn't see straight; she was so shocked her body almost gave up on functioning.

And then she started crying. There was no sobbing – just tears streaming down her face.

„Oh come on!” Louise groaned, handing her tissues. „I know he's an obnoxious ass, but he's not so bad!”

„I'm sorry!” Charlie stammered in response, shaking her head. „I don't know what's going on!”

„Your emotions are finally letting go, that's what's going on.” Fish said calmly, putting her warm hand on Charlie's shoulder. „Cry all you want. I'll get you some water.”

Once she calmed down, Louise and Fish sent her home in a cab – and shortly after her driver took off, leaving her alone with her racing thoughts, rapidly beating heart and shaking hands Oswald showed up. Eddie Nygma dropped him off – he was the only person with a license who was free during the day and wouldn't arouse suspicions if spotted.

„Charlie?” Oswald Cobblepot asked hesitantly, entering her home, closing the door behind him and looking as beautiful as he did when they first met.

„I'm here!” she called out from the living room, where she was curled up on the couch. He noticed her and came closer, furrowing his brows angrily at the sight of her tear-stained face.

„Why were you crying?” he asked sharply. „Did something happen?”

„I talked with Fish and Louise.” she said, for the first time in weeks finally looking him in the eye. „Oswald...”

His anger at whoever potentially caused her tears disappeared without a trace and he smiled nonchalantly.

„Did they tell you about what I almost did?”

„They also told me _why_ you almost did.”

„...fuck.” he muttered, suddenly looking unnerved again. „Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

„Tell me it's true.” she asked, her heart beating rapidly. „Please.”

„But I already told you.” he said after a brief pause. „Multiple times.”

„What do you mean?”

„I thought it's obvious. I thought you know and just don't care.”

Her mind suddenly filled itself with memories; of him asking her to be there when he wakes up, of him calling her _love_ , of him saying something as she was falling asleep at Peperoncino, of him constantly giving her what she wanted and of his tense, anxious posture when she first met him after returning to Gotham.

„I'm an idiot.” she finally said. „An idiot. There is no other word to describe it.”

She covered her face with her hands and didn't budge as he slowly sat down next to her.

„Charlie.” he said softly. „Look at me.”

„No.” she muttered in response. „I'm never looking at anyone ever again.”

„Then uncover your face, at least.”

„I'm red!”

„And if I close my eyes?”

„...fine.” she sighed, giving up.

He was sitting with his eyes closed and a dumbfounded grin on his face.

She hesitantly planted a kiss on his cheek. He didn't react.

She planted another kiss near the corner of his mouth – and he opened his eye.

„You're red.” he stated. „I can barely see your freckles.”

„Help me calm down then.” she muttered, closing her eyes.

„Only if you'll say those magical words, love.”

„Pretty please?”

„As much as I love hearing you say that... That's not what I meant.”

This time they confessed using actual words, instead of half-truths and understatements. As he was helping her calm down – slowly and gently, so slowly and gently she almost forgot about blood on their hands – she kept gazing at him from under her lashes, following his movements.

He made her sing, like only he was able to. And this time it felt different – this time it felt honest, with no one's spirit between them. It seemed like finally they put their dead loved ones to rest, at least for some time; and as he was helping her calm down, as they were tangled together in her living room, as her forgotten phone was quietly buzzing under the couch Gotham just kept on living. Someone was receiving the best news of their life. Bruce Wayne was joking around with his butler. Harvey Dent was wondering if anyone even remembers him.

As they were caressing each other, the seemingly cursed city kept on living, blissfully unaware of an affair between a young socialite and a wanted criminals. They were together and they were in love and all was good in Gotham City and not a thing was out of place.

 


End file.
